Snake of Chaos
by TheRealSnowWhite
Summary: There are many worlds beside our own. In the year after he fell, Loki spent his time exploring realms beyond the imagination, lands of corruption, chaos and conspiracies. Alliances will be forged, minds will be swayed, and new gods shall rise. What makes a king? What is the true meaning of loyalty? And how far can a mind be forced before it shatters?
1. Chapter 1

**Forgive me, please, but a little setting up is in order. This story was a summer project; I am afraid that I suffer chronic illness, and this story was therapeutic for me to write. I let my mind wander and hopefully managed to write an intriguing and interesting story. It was inspired by a throwaway line in The Avengers, that Loki had seen and visited worlds beyond that of Asgard; I was inspired to write about another realm he had visited, a place inspired by another ancient civilisation (that of Egypt - with a few changes and a lot of Narrativium) and most importantly - to challenge myself to write a story that would not involve romance. So hopefully, if you have stayed past my introduction, you will give this tale a try, and give me the benefits of your opinions.  
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**Thank you.  
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"Can you believe the utter mess of it all?" Remrem prodded a basket with a toe. It tipped over, sending a mixture of bread crusts and fruit cores spilling to the ground, the sweet smell of rotting fruit mixing with the stench of wine dregs and the acidic smell of vomit. "Big send off for the Crown Prince and the glorious flower of youth of Kemet, and we miss it. And get to clean up afterwards."

Esho gave a half shrug, a shoulder rising with a jolt, hands on her hips. She was stood nude amongst the debris of the night before, apart from a single golden band around her round hips, and the sunlight shone from the golden collar around her neck. The dining chamber of the great Golden Palace was open to the elements, with grand white pillars supporting a lush reed canopy, colourful murals adorning the walls that led to an elegant water garden on the banks of the lush, life-giving river. The river lay under the sun like an exquisite necklace, green and beautiful. The flood season was coming, it was easy to see. "I am glad I was not needed. Some of the men do not know how to stop their hands from creeping. They don't like it when I bite back." Esho had not always been in royal service. She'd been sold to the Palace in dubious circumstances by a nobleman from the Lower Kingdom for having, in the steward's words, an attitude problem not befitting one of her station. She was normally silent, with eyes like bitter grounds, but never complained about her duties. Her language was often stilted, and she still had the accent (and manners) of a barbarian.

"I can imagine." Remrem decided that was the best possible answer; after all, Esho was picking up a broom now, and he really didn't want to imagine what things she could do with it. He began picking up goblets and discarded garlands, the occasional mandrake, a few flower heads, some odd sandals that didn't make pairs, and some nice pieces of jewellery. "Were some of the royal wives down here last night? I've found some rings. Good quality, if I'm to judge. Worth a few takhs, I'd say."

"That's not a ring." Esho said bluntly, grabbing one of them from his hands. "That's a bracelet."

"Well, yes, I might have guessed that-"

"It's not any of our ladies. It's made of leather, and none of the royal wives who went to the feast were high enough to wear it." Esho's face was set in disgust, her thumbs and fingers tracing the delicate patterns etched into the cuff with gold. It was a beautiful thing, but most definitely did not belong. It was alien, with designs they'd never seen before. Perhaps it was fashionable in one of the sepats, and had been left behind by one of the officers. "It is strange. I don't like it. It feels…" she broke off, suddenly uncomfortable. "Funny. It doesn't seem right."

"By the sweating backside of Set himself, what are you two looking so worried about?" A slim young woman descended the grand, golden stairway into the room, holding her head high like she was a queen born. She had long dark hair, which gleamed with an auburn sheen, and wore a simple green gown, worn below the breasts to her ankles. She was a beautiful woman, and Remrem's face broke into a wide smile. Her name was Lily, and she was a personal slave to the Queen herself. The two were promised to be wed at the next Festival of Ra, a time that seemed to be so very far away, each day crawling towards that date. It was not much time at all in actuality, but Remrem did not think he could wait much longer. They had been waiting for the day for so long.

"Finding the wonderful presents that the royal wives have left behind from their mischief making with the ever professional cohorts of the king's army." Remrem presented the strange bracelet to his betrothed with a flourish. She took it, confusion pricking at her brow.

"Who can blame them? There are over three hundred of them, and only one king. Some of them have gone many years without a visit from him." She gave a quirk with her mouth, fingers running across the smooth leather of the cuff. "I have never seen this before. It looks like a guard –"

"I have never seen a guard look like _that _before."

"Not one of _those_ guards, Rem. A wrist guard. For archery. I should imagine one of the captains left it behind, or possibly the Lady Sekhmet. It'd look good on a woman, I should imagine. It's slim enough." She slipped her own wrist through it, and it hung loosely, the colour almost matching her skin. "I'll take it to her."

"Is she still here? I would have thought she'd have driven off with the Prince." Remrem pottered about the room, packing away things into the cart provided, while Lily trailed after him, following after the stout and resolute figure of Esho.

"No. Her duty is to protect the Queen now, and the young Prince. They're in the process of packing at the moment, with the royal women. Lady Sekhmet is bellowing fit to bust at everyone, so I thought I'd bother you instead." Lily gave a radiant smile, and then screamed as Remrem splashed her with the dregs from a pot of beer. He laughed as she cursed behind him, trying to flick lumps of barley and bread from her dress.

"I feel so much safer knowing that the Great Lion will be travelling with us. Pursued by the armies of the dark one, ferrying on the river at the beginning of the flood, King captured, Prince riding out to save him… I mean, these are the glory days." Remrem was trying to be light-hearted, but a dark shadow passed over the faces of the two women. These were not days to make light of. The precious balance between maat and isfet, the forces of goodness and chaos, had been terribly upset in the past few weeks. It looked doubtful that they would be reset for many seasons. The three slaves, in their corner of the room, all silently made the sign against the evil eye behind their backs.

"We have two Princes here. The priority is on them, I believe." Lily said, her voice somewhat muted. "They are getting along fabulously. Neither suspects anything is wrong at all."

"Good for them." Esho gave a sudden jab at a particularly large pile of rubbish. "Get up! You are not allowed to sleep here! How dare you befoul this place with your drunkenness! The time for that was last night, and it is now time for you to leave! The battalions have all departed, and you shall be flogged for this!" She gave several fast, vicious jabs to the pile, before she could be stopped. It could be anyone under the pile, not some anonymous soldier, and Remrem thought it would be unmanly of him to let Esho take the whip for it.

A figure rolled out from under the pile. The three slaves all took a step back, all franticly making the sign against the evil eye again, and Esho began to scream in fear, wild, insistent, the scream of a terrified child. The cries brought some members of the King's elite guard, the Blue Crocodile guard, bursting into the room; with all the trouble currently festering in the kingdom, they were on a constant knife edge, the merest sign of trouble bringing a battalion of them thundering down. They were tall men, clad in the regimental armour made of the cured hide of the beast they took their name from. They pushed Remrem aside, and pulled the women away from what had caused them such distress. The soldiers took a step back themselves, their faces wide eyed, mouths slack, before they grabbed the figure and carried it away as swiftly as they had arrived.

Esho's knees gave way slowly, and she sat on the floor, hands pressed against her face. Lily crouched down next to her, patting a shoulder in a consoling manner, her own face blanched, her eyes wide and round like dark pebbles. Remrem spat on the floor for good measure against bad spirits; he too was shaken, but decided to put on a brave face.

"Well, at least it wasn't a soldier." He tried, but his uneasy smile fell in the glares from the two women.

"It was a ghost. It was a spirit from the Netherworld. It has come up to haunt us and curse us." Esho looked ashen, her lip trembling. "Did you see his skin? I have never seen anything like it. It was the colour of bleached bone, like a corpse of an animal left to dry out in the desert. It was white bones."

"I have never seen anything like it." Remrem said, scratching his arms distractedly. "It wasn't right, that's for sure. Bright white, like linen. Monstrous. Some trick sent by Set. Or that wife of his."

Lily gave a snort and rolled her eyes. "Queen Nephthys is a good and honourable woman. You'll never be more than a house slave if you talk about my Lady's sister in such a way, and why should I marry such a man? Low in birth and low in thought. Now, if you two have calmed down, I was only supposed to be away for a moment to fetch the Prince's cup and ball, and if Lady Sekhmet is unbearable when she is fussing, I should imagine she is unbearable when she is cross." She stood up, her face expressionless - her slave face, she called it. Remrem could see through it easily. She was as shaken as either of them. A man with bright white skin, his clothes made of green leather and gold, thin and dark-haired had appeared from nowhere - if it was a man. He had heard tales of demons in other lands, creatures that looked like men but spread trouble and disaster in their wake. It was a poor omen of times to come indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

The Palace was abuzz with the news of the discovery of the shade, the story having spread like a wildfire across fields in the dry season. Lily had tried to get to the Prince's chambers as quickly as she could, but had been stopped by each servant and each person of worth on her way, each having known her part in the tale. She had hardly been unable to not talk to them; she was a high-ranking slave, yes, but she could hardly deny the wishes of any freeborn that came to her. She had finally gotten to the room, picked up the stupid cup and ball, before running across the palace complex, back to the Queen's water garden to re-join the royal party. She was flustered, her hair dishevelled, and panting slightly when she returned. By this time, the Princes had abandoned their game, and she could see they were on a skiff, out by the centre of the river, probably fishing. Children were so fickle.

"You were such a while, I did start to worry – but then I did hear that you were at the centre of this ghost business, which is due to become the latest court scandal. I have heard five different versions, from five different people, and they are growing more extraordinary with each retelling." The Lady Isis, Queen of Heaven, Star of the Sea, Great Lady of Magic, was laid under a reed veranda. She was under thirty years of age, and possessed of a radiant beauty when she was allowed to look natural and relax. Here, where she would be seen by any farmer or tradesman passing by or through, her face and body had been painted with antimony, her face a ghastly white, her lips a vivid blood red, her eyes outlined with dark kohl, her eyelids enhanced with glimmering blue and green malachite. Her skin underneath this was the colour of dark cedar wood, and she wore a long, golden dress that glowed in contrast to her skin colour. Her hair was black, of a most unnatural lustre, and dressed with beads of silver and lapis lazuli that hung in the shapes of crescent moons. She had a shawl wrapped about her shoulders, black in colour, with bright rainbow colours on the underside. There was a marked similarity between the slave and her mistress; they had the same round, pebbleish eyes, high foreheads, and flatish noses. She beckoned for Lily, and the slave came over, pausing to give a quick bow, touching her forehead to the floor once, before sitting on the couch with her mistress.

"I will admit, it gave us quite a fright. I had never seen anything like it in my life. It was like a conjuration, as my Lady might do for a festival. I don't think it was a ghost. Ghosts are not normally found collapsed under bread crusts – unless ghosts are different in the Upper Kingdom." She gave a half shrug, and the Queen laughed. They were from the same serpat in the Lower Kingdom, and held the delta in their hearts.

"Lady Sekhmet is questioning the creature as we speak. I do hope she leaves enough of it behind so that we might all see it. A little amount of frivolity before tomorrow." The Queen's mouth set in a harsh line that made her face look suddenly older. The water garden, once full of laughter, and music, and dance, was empty and bare; the furniture was packed away, ready for the boats, and the slaves either dismissed, or waiting anxiously in their quarters. Some had slunk away last night, too afraid of what was coming towards them. The nobles tried to talk of it as a simple boating trip, to enjoy the pleasures of the river, but the servants called it what it was – fleeing. They were leaving the beautiful island city of Elephantine, and sailing to the great cataracts that rose out of the green waters of the river, stone portals to worlds unseen. Well, not so unseen; merchants frequently sailed downstream to the barbarian lands for rare unguents, animals, and people. Esho had come from the land beyond the cataracts. It was just not normally a place where civilised people ventured.

"It shall be a great adventure. Perhaps we shall get to hunt elephants." Lily was allowed a great freedom in her relationship to the Queen; she had been in her intimate service since she had been a child, and when the queen had been a young bride. In truth, she did not behave much like a slave, presuming greatly on the prestige and connections she possessed. Her peculiar status, being both of a high rank and the lowest rank in the kingdom, seemed almost as a badge of pride. She was neither trod beneath the feet of those around her, nor fully one of them. She was allowed certain freedom of expression and manner around the most powerful in the land.

Lady Isis smiled, some of her worry dissipating. "I have heard they stand the height of the great temple at Itjaway and when they bellow, it makes the very earth shake beneath them. They are like mountains, moving with the grace of a gazelle. Harpocrates is so excited, he has already been practising with his bow."

That was not something Lily wanted to hear. The Prince Harpocrates was a youth aged seven years old, and was already highly skilled with his miniature bow. Indeed, he never missed a pair of inviting feminine buttocks at a range of fifty paces, and the women of the royal court all felt a sinking feeling at any sight of the boy holding it. "I should imagine it would be difficult to find a chariot driver willing to take the Prince with them on such a hunt. It would be a great dangerous mission for any man, let alone a young boy." There had been no elephants in either of the kingdoms in living memory, and no recorded sightings on over a hundred years. An ancestor of the Pharaoh Osiris was known to have hunted and killed an old bull himself, this event having been recorded in glorious paintings in the chambers of the king. The tusks had been carved into a most remarkable chair that was used for banqueting; a use of a rare and coveted resource designed as a display of status. Ivory was well loved by artisans of both kingdoms, but was difficult to come by and inordinately expensive. The closest thing to ivory was the teeth of the hippopotamus, and that too was rare; the priests of the god Hapi and the goddess Taweret did not approve of any unregulated hunting of the river cows.

"It depends. Anubis is of an age to watch the hunt, possibly be involved, and it's impossible to separate the two of them right now. They are thoroughly joined at the hip." The corners of the Queen's mouth twitched, but her eyes remained sad. The silhouettes of the two children fell upon the shimmering waters of the river, one taller than the other, accompanied by the tutor Thoth. The Prince Anubis was eleven years old, and thought himself a man already. The Prince Harpocrates had been glad for a playmate closer to his own age, as the Crown Prince Horus was sixteen and had no time for childish manners, and the Prince was often kept away from the half-brothers and sisters whom lived in the harem. The two had become inseparable, unaware of the great tragedy of violence behind the scenes. The foundations of the two kingdoms were cracked, and discord had festered in the wounds so that brother now turned against brother, and all hopes for peace had been sacrificed in the quest for war and honour.

"Sweet perhaps. But if you let me speak freely, my Queen, your sister should really wear the blue headdress of a harlot, rather than the crown of an anointed queen." The two on the couch turned to the new voice, the harsh tones of a wild beast. The Lady Sekhmet, the Great Lion of Egypt, Best of Ten, the Lady of Slaughter, the Mistress of Dread, had entered the water garden behind them. She was a powerful and fearsome figure. It was unheard of for a woman to enter the military, let alone come to lead it, but the Lady Sekhmet had not been raised as a normal woman. She had been raised by her father, a once great general, to be the son he had never had and been taught to never see herself as a natural woman, but one that had a warrior's heart beating in her breast. She had been raised in a ruthless manner, and had entered the army in disguise as a man, rising to Best of Ten Thousand before she was twenty. She had outed herself then, and had accepted no attempts to stop her continuing in her military career – not that there had been many. She had never once been defeated in battle, and was the fiercest fighter the kingdom had ever seen. She was of a similar age to the Queen, but was possessed of no beauty. She was muscled and scarred, with thin tawny eyes, and a peculiar injury to her jaw had left it unable to close fully. This had only added to her reputation, as she now looked increasingly more like the lion she claimed to be. She was a frank and uncultured woman, vehemently loyal to the King, and declared personal protector of the royal family. Lady Sekhmet did not stand for formalities, however, and did not bother to prostrate herself before the Queen. She stalked towards the veranda, took a handful of dates, before standing by them. Only then did she touch her heart and lips in a gesture of love and beneficiation.

"I cannot account for the behaviour of my sister, only that she is always driven by her heart and her duty, and that sometimes they lie to her. She was always foolish, she never put any thought into anything. If only I had been there to stop her!" Lady Isis threw up her hands, her jewellery clattering.

"But she can only have done this when you two were together." Lady Sekhmet said, her mouth stuffed with dates. "She could have only betrayed you at one of your own palaces. But I have not come here to insult your sister; believe it or not, I actually do have some duties around here, and I have been questioning the prisoner found in your banqueting hall – you were there, weren't you Lily? Found him."

"If he was able to be questioned, then it must be assumed he is a mortal man, rather than a shade passing from the Eternal Fields." Lady Isis leant back on her couch, drawing the many folds of her shawl about her person, and closed her eyes.

"I must ask you, Divine Majesty, to pronounce on what he has told me. I am… unsure of what to believe. I cannot tell whether he is lying to me or not." Lady Sekhmet's inscrutable face looked almost embarrassed. "I would not deal with him in such a manner – normally, a threat of a beating, or even death would make any ruffian speak, and quickly! – but he claims to be of noble birth, and I dare not treat him thus."

"Noble birth?" Lady Isis opened one eye. She sounded intrigued. "This _is_ turning into a great mystery. Noble birth from where?"

"I will not speak of these matters in front of your maid. They concern some of the greater secrets of the realm." Lady Sekhmet said stiffly, and Lily dropped down from the couch.

"Do not return until I bid you." Lady Isis patted her on the arm, and Lily prostrated herself before the Queen, before descending down the steps of the water garden, down to the river bank. The shallow waters were beginning to swell with flood waters, the deep green diluting with grey and bitter water that flowed from the god Hapi himself. Back home, in Behbeit El-Hagar, the waters were lush and abundant with reeds and thousands upon thousands of lilies and lotuses, which perfumed the air, made it thick and sluggish with scent. Pollen carried on the winds, covering the hair and the body with fertile pods, and everyone was bathed in the sensual fragrance of that most potent blossom. It had been one of her first duties as a slave for her mistress, to braid and plait garlands of lily and lotus flowers for her wedding train, and she had been given the nickname 'Lily' ever since. To hear her true name, Wadjet, felt alien, as did her memories of the delta. She had lived so long in the Upper Kingdom, close to the harsh desert sands, that her childhood memories felt like dreams implanted in her mind. True, Elephantine was lush and fertile, with trees that provided cool and pleasant resting spots, but it was not the damp grounds of her birth.

To her left, half a mile up the river inside the confines of the harem, she could see the Princess Hathor, Lady of the Sycamore, playing at pitch and toss with her own slave girls. The young girl was clad only in a short white kilt, her dark hair neatly bobbed and still short from her lock of youth. She had been married to the Crown Prince Horus half a season ago, the pair having been betrothed since childhood. The pair appeared to be happy, but they were still children really, despite being considered to be adults. The Crown Prince Horus had been sent to head the army on their advancement toward the Lower Kingdom; he had been champing at the bit for an opportunity to show his manhood and to achieve greatness. This was the perfect opportunity really. He could show to the peoples of both Kingdoms what a man he was, heading the army at his age, and do something noble and heroic when he rescued his captured father from the hands of his enemy and uncle. And, of course, there was the possibility that everyone avoided thinking about as much as possible – that, perhaps, the great Pharaoh Osiris, King of the Living, Lord of the Sky and Life of the Ra, was dead already, and the Prince was racing down river to claim his birth right and his accession. It was a situation that was far too similar with the circumstances of the Prince's birth sixteen years ago, and those who had lived through those dark times did not enjoy the symmetry of the events.

"Are you a confidant of the most divine Queen, our beloved Lady Isis?" A strong male voice called out, startling Lily out of her reverie. It was a coarse sailor, on a small papyrus boat that was battered and war weary. He held a wooden box under one arm and a cloth package in one hand. Lily stepped away, looking for a guard. Where was the nearest one? She could see a helmet shining in the sun, far behind the Queen in her garden, and there was the shadow of one near (but not within seeing distance) of the playing Princess. Both too far to help her until it was too late.

"Who is asking?" She drew herself to her full height, desperately trying to look haughty and arrogant. "Are you loyal to the divine Pharaoh, or to the black pretender? Speak!"

"I swear allegiance to the only true king of the two Kingdoms, the divine Pharaoh Osiris, may he live forever! I have come from the battlefield at Abusir, and I bring grave tidings for Queen. Please take me to her this minute, I must speak with her."

"Umm…." Lily's mask broke for a second, as she flung a look over her shoulder towards the Queen and Lady Sekhmet who were deep in conversation. They would not welcome the intrusion.

"I come bearing the hawk seal, given to me by the hand of the Falcon Prince himself." The sailor opened the cloth package, revealing to her a small blue statuette carved from lapis lazuli. It was a potent object; the bearer possessed the power of the King, and it was treason to deny him. "I have not slept since he gave this to me. I have sailed for three days as swiftly as I could. Take me to the queen."

"Of course." Lily turned on her heel, and beckoned him to follow her up the steps towards the main platform of the garden. The two women were sat close together on the couch, heads bent together, deep in conversation. They did not notice the approach of the slave or the sailor until Lily prostrated herself on the ground before them, her forehead pressed onto the compacted soil.

"- the ma'at in my heart tells me that this must be so – Lily? What are you doing here? I told you specifically to not come back until I called for you." Lady Isis's mouth set in a thin line, and she clutched her fan until her knuckles went white. It was a completely idle threat; she would never beat Lily, and had never been able to bring herself to. Lily supposed she was lucky in that respect, as otherwise Lady Isis had an exceptionally precise aim and a strong swing.

"My queen, One Who is All, I bring terrible news of your son, the Crown Prince Horus." The sailor knelt on the floor, holding out the rough wooden box to the surprised Queen. She took it uneasily, smoothing a hand over the top of the box. She was clearly unsure about whether she ought to open it or not, fearing the worse, and then opened it anyway.

Even underneath the white makeup, Lily could see that the Queen's face blanched; other than that, she betrayed no reaction to whatever the contents where. She accepted them as coolly as she would accept a gift of a scroll or tablet, before passing it to Lady Sekhmet without a word. Lady Sekhmet stood up and her face was white too – white with fury and rage. She instinctively curled a hand around the handle of the great war axe at her side, the feared Sekhem, and looked as if she might draw it now, to kill this bringer of ill news.

"This changes everything." Lady Isis's voice remained calm and neutral. Her training and natural aristocratic bearing had prepared her well for situations like these. "We will no longer make passage to the cataracts. We must go to my husband's army in Abusir. They will be without a leader, and quite stranded. They need their head and their queen. We leave first thing in the morning – and you, you may go to the kitchens, and they shall provide a meal for you. I will not punish you for this news." She made a sign of slight blessing to the sailor, who pressed his fingers to his lips before leaving in a fitful hurry, afraid her benevolent attitude would change.

"We must attend to the pressing matter of this prince-" Lady Sekhmet started, before Lady Isis waved a hand to stop her.

"Yes, yes, of course, let us there now. Take this box to my chambers straight away Lily. Do not stop for anyone, and put this beside my scrying dish. Do not let anyone know what you carry." The slim weight of the wooden box was put into Lily's outstretched hands. She looked into the box. It looked back at her. There was an eye in it, resting on a bed of linen that had turned brown. It was perhaps one of the more horrific things she had seen in her life. She closed the box lid with a snap, and gave a small bow of the head to the two noble women in front of her, before getting up to enter the cool shadows of the palace.


	3. Chapter 3

Esho knelt on the warm flagstones, and rolled out a sleeping mat. She frowned and scratched her chin. The mat was rather dusty, despite having spent the better part of its life in the linen box. She cursed in her own native tongue, and began to beat it relentlessly with her palms. No guest of the queen could ever accuse her of not being thorough or not providing a clean room! This was the last she had to do, she believed. It was an old, ill-used chamber, rather stark with few furnishings, but Esho had swept and wiped every surface she could reach, had provided a stool, a toiletry set, and a small amount of fruit and pastries. There was no telling what could be needed, so she had decided to prepare for anything. All she had been told by the steward was that the guest was of royal descent, and that he was to be extended all courtesies that were possible. Aside from one, she thought wryly, other they would be sending him a more congenial slave.

"Who is it anyway? A Bedouin?" She asked of Kratas, the guard lounging by the door. She had no idea why she had been trailed by the man, and did not appreciate his presence as she found him to be insolent and ingratiating. "Is it a Prince from my own homeland? Is that why they've sent for me?" Esho did not add that this would be the only reason they would ask her to wait upon him personally. She did not mix well with people, she knew that, and had an unfortunate tendency to lash out when frustrated.

Kratas shrugged with one shoulder. "I don't know. They don't tell me anything! I was ordered to come here, keep an eye on you, and to remain outside the door. I am not to leave you alone in here, nor to leave the prince thing alone. Other than that…. I don't know who he is, or what he is. All though…." He got a sudden sly gleam in his eyes. "I heard something very interesting. But I shall only tell you on one condition."

"What would that be?" Esho asked, her hackles beginning to rise. She suspected what he would be asking and dreaded it.

"Let me ask you about that friend of yours."

"I have been rather well told that I do not have any friends." Esho said with a snicker, straightening out the sleeping mat. It refused to lie straight. She gave up, and began assembling the headrest.

"Stop dancing around the question. Now, is it true that the beautiful Lily is going to be married to that wastrel Remrem? If it's true then…" Kratas broke off with a longing sigh, leaning his head against the doorframe with his eyes shut. "It's a shame, for such a delicious creature to be wasted on a man like that… she could have any man she wanted for a husband. She could even marry a nobleman if she wanted. But I'd much prefer it if she married me. I would throw myself at her feet and-"

Esho wrinkled her nose disgustedly. "I do not need to hear any more about that, thank you. And you will be sorely disappointed. Lily is going marry Remrem at the next festival of Ra, and they are very much in love. He does not need to make base jokes about her to win her heart, you see."

"I shall eat the heart." Kratas gave a jovial smile. "And to my end of the bargain. I heard from another of my men that the prince that is coming here has travelled from a far and distant land, that the Pharaoh sent for him before he went to war, and that he is going to win the war for us all. As a general or something."

"That does not sound like something that Pharaoh would do." Esho stood up and gave a smart nod to the room in general. The room was clean enough to her satisfaction. What about the water stool? The thought suddenly popped into her head and she sighed. She had no idea when it would have been last cleaned, and the water would be stagnant. She cursed to her own gods under her breath. There would be no time to run down to the water buckets and sluice it down. She was about to ask Kratas if he would call up some other guards to fetch some water for her, when she saw that he had put his fist against his shoulder, and was bowing.

"My Lord Nefer, may I say that it is an honour to be tasked and trusted with this duty…" Kratas began a flowery speech but Esho (rather gladly) missed the rest of it. Unlike Lily, or even Remrem, she was a mere house slave. She sat on the very lowest rung of the servants' hierarchy, more due to her own attitude than anything else. She was skilled in many things, and pretty enough, but her temper made her far too volatile to work at anything else other than the most menial of tasks. As such, she was little more than property and held little more significance than a rug or a brazier. She had to be given permission, explicit permission, to speak in front of her betters or to even look at their faces. It was a frustrating system, and it was exceptionally lucky that the Lady Isis was rather kind and benevolent in her ways. Any other owner would have sold her on years ago, or perhaps tried to beat her into submission, and finding when that didn't work… well. That didn't bear thinking about. She dropped to the floor immediately, her forehead resting against the flagstones, unable to look up or to even engage in conversation until told so.

"Yes, well… the Queen has said that she intends to hold court this evening to fully discuss this matter with the inclusion of the War Council. You are to instruct our visitor in proper etiquette – or as best you can do in the time offered to us – and to be his guide around the palace… although that is not going to be an issue after tomorrow morning. Keep an eye on him, at least. Make sure she doesn't bite him." Lord Nefer had a history with Esho. It was a history he tried his best to forget. It was a memory that made her (and the other slave girls) howl with laughter. He did not step into the room, but she could hear footsteps enter the room and come close to her head before stopping.

"Is this a feature that comes with the room?" It was a man's voice, and curiously accented. No matter how hard she tried, she could not place it. It didn't come from either Kingdom, or the Bedouin, and it was most definitely not a voice from her homeland, to her immense disappointment.

"She will be your personal slave for the duration of your visit. If you need something to eat, or uh, you need a bath, or anything at all, she's there to provide it."

"I know what a slave is. What is she doing?"

"Prostrating herself. You are a freeborn prince, and you must allow her to be, um, how do I say this? You need to, well, allow her to be as much as a person as you are, and allow her to talk, and to look at you, and…" Kratas trailed off, sounding uncomfortable. Esho had an itch on the back of her calf. It was relentless and she resorted to a half wriggle to try and satisfy the urge to scratch it.

"There isn't a bed in here." The stranger cut across Kratas's word fumblings. "Can't the slave find me a bed?"

"You want a bed? I don't know if there are any spare available, if I'm honest. But Esho rolled out a clean sleeping mat, and there's a nice new headrest for you. It's more than I get." Kratas was not a man used to dealing with the highest persons of society. He was a simple guardsman, and found himself being far more informal than was wise. It would not be a problem with the Queen, who had grown up in an unrestrained household, but the nobles of the Upper Kingdom found it to be a great and rude presumption. His words were met with a long and prickly silence. The strange prince moved away from his position next to Esho's head, and she heard him sit down with an exasperated sigh.

"What kind of a civilised country doesn't have beds? You can stop that now, and get me something to drink." He sounded tired, and weary, as if the entire weight of the world rested solely upon his shoulders. She supposed that the journey must have been difficult, or that he had had to pass through the enemy's lands – if the forces of the dark one had suspected that help was coming… she shook her head as she straightened up, her neck and the middle of her shoulders aching slightly. Esho blinked, and her eyes finally set upon the guest. Whereupon she gave a strangled wail, backing away so quickly away that she flung herself into the wall, smacking her head hard against the mud brick and plaster. It was the ghost man from earlier, the terrible sand and bone man. It was not right, it was not natural, for someone to have skin as pale as that. She had been told stories as a child, back in her native lands, of a time when men with skin like bones had fallen from the sky and the earth had shook and all the animals had died. She thought such things were fancy, tales for children, until now, when she cowered against the wall, too scared to turn her head, and crying like a child.

"Well, now, we'll probably have to get you a different slave." Said Kratas, ever the pragmatist.


	4. Chapter 4

It had taken a while to calm Esho down in the kitchens, or so he had been told. The cook had resorted to forcing drink between her lips until she would stop shaking, and now she was sleeping off the effects of the alcohol in the slave quarters. Kratas had never seen anything like it, how she had flung herself across with room with such fear and repugnance – especially from a woman such as Esho, whose fierce temper had earned her such a reputation. He did not see why she feared the Prince so. It was true, that his skin was white and that was different, but there were many different peoples outside the Two Kingdoms and that didn't bother him at all. There had been a small amount of fuss in carting Esho out of the room, and then there had been an odd, long period of silence. The Prince had sat with his back against the wall, in utter stillness and silence. He had not raised his eyes from the floor, and they were dull, almost lifeless. He did not look like a man who had arrived on the eve of war ready to make battle. He looked like a man who had seen the destruction of people and worlds and regretted having lived through it. Kratas had felt intensely uncomfortable in his presence, and was glad to take him to the main chambers of the palace for the opening of court. He did not want to spend more time than he had to with the sharp faced stranger.

"When you go in there, walk straight towards the throne. Don't look at any of the nobles, or any other of the royal women. You must walk straight to the queen, and stop about ten cubits or so in front of the throne. And then you will bow, and wait for her to tell you to arise again." Kratas whispered urgently as they stood outside the great double doors of the main chamber. They were made of the finest cedar wood, and decorated with inlaid glass in all the colours of green that could be made. The colour of the House of Osiris was a fertile green, so it was lucky in that respect that the Prince appeared to have prepared. He had neglected to wash, however, and Kratas hoped that would not reflect badly on him.

"How long will I have to bow for?"

"It depends on what the queen wants. I heard tell of when she made Lord Ako stand and wait for three hours – although that was a long time ago, during the first campaign, and he had been caught trading with the enemy." Kratas tried a hearty grin that slid from his face. He was being too open and too common, he knew that, but he did not know how to behave much better. He tried to straighten his face and set it into seriousness. "When you straighten up, you must then do a half-bow to the Princess Hathor, and then you greet the Queen. Um, a basic greeting is 'your face is fine today', don't try for anything more fancy than that I'd say. She won't be in the mood for all that clothes sniffing stuff."

Over the course of the afternoon, Kratas had been trying to make his sombre responsibility laugh, or at least smile. This last comment brought a quizzical expression, then a sudden laugh. It was unexpected, and appeared to catch both men off guard. "What? Clothes… what are you talking about?"

"Oh, it's… it's this thing. It's this tradition up from the delta, where the Queen comes from, to talk about the scent of a woman's clothes. It's romantic or something, I don't know. But most aren't… uh, most can't do it very well." Kratas gave a single shouldered shrug, to express his own disdain with the custom. He disliked it mainly because he was no good at it and was met with flat rejection.

"That's… I've never heard anything quite like that. Be assured that I'm not going to try to do it." The Prince was cut off as the great doors opened before them, flickering brazier light falling across the flagstones, heavy incense billowing out on the air, the hushed noises of society Kratas could never be integrated into. He touched his clenched right fist to his left shoulder and backed away.

"I will be here when you get out."

* * *

Gold. That was the first thing that was noticed in the presence chamber. Everywhere was the glint of gold. The decorations on the walls and ceilings, although painted in deep blues, greens and reds, was covered in gold leaf. There were statues, half hidden, made entirely of gold, with dark blue eyes that looked out dolefully on the intruding newcomer. And each tiny movement of any of the people was immediately noticeable, their movements magnified by how the light's reflection changed as it shone in honey coloured droplets on the floor. There were hundreds of people in the room, whose conversations had stopped immediately when he had entered the room, so that while he walked, they all stared at him as one. They all wore heavy jewellery; necklaces, collars, arm bands and rings… they were dripping in wealth, yet most wore nothing more complex than a plain white kilt, or a simple coloured dress. There was a large group of women, sat on the left of the room, away from everyone else, who wore the most extraordinary costumes. They wore elaborate headpieces, with long flowing hair, their faces painted a garish white, their lips bright red. They stood out amongst the other, muted women in the room, as their dresses were conservative in comparison; everywhere else, there was a constant display of flesh, with most women wearing skirts or dresses that were cut to reveal their breasts or stomachs. It seemed oddly primitive, and it clashed with quiet gentility of the room, with the hush of music and (now stifled) polite conversation.

At the front of the room stood what he had took to be a life-like statue, but as he grew nearer he realised it was a woman, standing on a raised plinth, stock still. Her makeup and clothing was rich and gaudy; she had a strange, stiff wig that encompassed her face and was detailed with plaits of golden beads, topped with a large crown in the shape of a throne. Her dress was white, with a black cloak that flowed behind her, revealing a rainbow underside. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she carried what looked to be a small shepherd's crook and a flail, both covered with precious stones. On the steps leading up to her platform, a number of nude slave girls reclined, wearing collars and hip belts like the hysterical servant from earlier. At the woman's feet sat two young women, one clad in green, the other in red. The one in red wore a crown made to look like a snake about to strike. The other was laid back, her eyes shut as if she asleep, a thin yellow band around her forehead making her hair curl behind her head in a manner reminiscent of a hooded snake. This would be the Queen and her ladies then. He bowed.

"I, Queen Isis, the wife of Pharaoh Osiris, the first of that name, the king of the Upper Kingdom and divine father of the peoples of Ta Shemau and Kemet, welcome you, Prince Loki of the kingdom of Asgard to this land. You may rise." Queen Isis's voice was entirely neutral, and she remained in the same fixed pose as the room began to clap politely, men beating their hands against their knees, and women patting their hands against their fans. Loki rose to look her in the face properly, and found her expression inscrutable.

"It is a great honour to have such an esteemed person come to visit our court, even if it must be in a time of great sorrow." The girl in red said softly. Her eyes were large and enflamed, the flesh of her cheeks swollen.

"I-" He was cut off immediately.

"You will join with us now for dinner." Queen Isis intoned. "This marks a great alliance between our peoples, and it is best to deal with such matters in an informal setting. Follow my servant, the honourable Wadjet, and prepare yourself in my husband's private dining chamber. I have matters of my people still to attend to."

The girl in green stood up, gave a half bow to her mistress, before stepping down from the platform. She did not bother to acknowledge his presence other than to bob her head in deference towards him, and walked quickly across to a small doorway at the back of the room. She went inside and began to light braziers, which spluttered into life, sending more of the same, heady scents into the air. She had a curious face; rather round, with a wide flat nose, and large almond shaped eyes heavily outlined with makeup. She wore no ornament, save for a pair of large earrings that were made of semi-precious stones larger than her eyes. There was a low table set up in the room, surrounded by cushions – the idea being to sit on the floor. She gestured to the table with a hand.

"What does that mean? Do you want me to sit down?"

She nodded, and then knelt down on the floor herself, leaning back on her calves. She pointed at him, the floor, and then at herself. She sat, clearly waiting for a response from him. What did she mean? He sat down on a large red cushion, nearly knocking the low table flying. The girl rolled her eyes massively and gave an exasperated sigh. Nearly everyone he had met so far had the same reaction to him; namely, that they found his confusion of their customs and traditions strange, as if it were unimaginable that people might behave differently.

"I don't understand what you mean. Can you understand me? Can you speak my language?" Loki said this slowly and clearly. The girl, who had been pulling out a dish of water from underneath the table, gave an offended snort.

"Of course I can understand you! There's no need to talk to me in that manner. You hadn't given me permission to talk to you, and that makes it very difficult for me to do my job. Give me your hands." She had a short, snappish way of speaking, which was very different from the fawning nature of the slaves from earlier – when they had not been cringing in fear. When he did not respond as quickly as she would like, she gave another loud sigh and grabbed his hands herself, and began to vigorously scrub them.

"Do you not have polite manners where you come from? Are you allowed to go dirty to dinner, and with your shoes on?"

"Where I come from, servants aren't generally so presumptuous. And I wouldn't ask a servant to do this. I can do it myself." The skin on his hands felt raw as she stopped. She then began to clean under his nails. She showed no reluctance for the task, other than irritation at his own ignorance of the custom.

She cocked her head at his words, her eyes narrowed. "Huh. How odd. Are there no slaves where you come from? I cannot imagine a kingdom working without slaves," she continued without giving him a break to answer, "I can't see how it would work. I was born to obey and serve, and I have been doing that since I was a child. How does your land work? Surely you must acknowledge that some are born to a higher destiny than others. It's a basic building block for a civilised kingdom – unless you are not a civilised man." She gave a rather mischievous laugh that didn't quite match with her rather serious demeanour. She now began to dry his hands.

"Wadjet – your name is Wadjet? –"

"Lily. Call me Lily. Everyone does."

"You talk a great amount."

"Only about important things. As a slave, I have a rather vested interest in the tenements of slavery. Do you like cobra?"

"Cobra?" Loki repeated, not quite understanding her meaning.

"Yes, you know, snake." She flapped her arm in a rather vague imitation of a snake.

"I know what a snake is."

"How am I to know what animals a foreign land has? What do I look like, some, some, some sort of animal expert? Well, do you like cobra? Only that is what the queen is having for dinner, and if you don't like snake, hard luck for you as it's what you're getting." Lily stood up, straightening her dress, and beginning to bustle around the room, bringing in golden plates (more gold! There appeared to be a never ending supply of it, everyone and everything was drenched in it) piled high with food, arranging them on the table.

"Could I have something to drink?" Loki asked eventually, eager to break the stilted atmosphere of the room. Perhaps it was the claustrophobic atmosphere of the palace beginning to affect him. True, he had not been here long, but for every minute so far he had never been on his own. The people of Kemet (or at least the social elite) appeared to not have a private life at all; no matter what or where, there would always be _someone_. Behind every corner there was a slave or a servant, or a group of talking women or a group of guardsmen… the constant buzz of activity and talk and life appeared to never stop. The constant jabber of Kratas had felt stifling – he had wanted to shake the man to shut him up, stop him from blathering on and on about nothing, never stopping, never pausing – but the sudden imposition of silence was oppressive and jarring. Everything was out of sync, and the one constant so far had been the noise.

"What would you like? There is beer, there is fruit sherbet, and I believe there is some of the three palm quality wine left, although I understand that is bound for the ship."

"The ship? What ship?"

Lily had been half way across the room with a brass tray when she frowned and bit her lip. That was either something she was not supposed to know about or was not supposed to talk about. She gave him a cold glass of a red liquid, and refused to say anything else, instead crouching by the doorway and staring with a stony expression into the middle distance. Loki drank from the cup, and found it to be tart but not unpleasant. It was refreshing after a day of oppressive heat, a dry uncomfortable heat that had not abated despite the growing dark. He supposed he was to sit and wait. He took to examining the walls, getting up from the floor to examine the wall paintings in closer detail. They were beautiful in colour, though he found the stiff, formalised positions that the figures took slightly off-putting. The pictures were rigid and lifeless, despite showing what he presumed to be a mixture of ordinary life and courtly life in the scenes, and like the rest of this land, the nudity was frank and constant. The constant, unpleasant heat was no doubt the cause of that. The paintings were covered with a flurry of writing – where there was a blank space, there were words. He had presumed it was writing, but as he looked closer it was tiny illustrations, hundreds and thousands of them. Occasionally collections of them would be encircled and the words were brightly painted to clash with the paintings. They seemed almost childish in composition, but they possessed a haunting quality all of their own.

"You admire the art?" Queen Isis had entered the room silently, closely followed by the girl in red. She had a haughty manner about her, and there was a derisive curl to her upper lip – it was small, but noticeable. Lily reached up, and removed the wig and crown headpiece entire from the head of her mistress, leaving the queen looking stunted without it, her hair in reality short, copper coloured, and bound in bronze pins closely to her skull. She proceeded to wash her hands in the bowl provided, while the girl in red bobbed in greeting towards Loki.

"I am the Princess Hathor, wife to the Crown Prince Horus. Have you been comfortable? I am to understand that you did not arrive in the best circumstances." She had a rather high, piercing voice, and her face was long, with overlarge eyes and a rather horsey mouth and chin. She settled herself at the table, immediately reaching for the dish of succulent dates and filling her mouth.

"Yes, I did not arrive well." Loki sat next to the princess who smiled widely – unlike her mother-in-law, whose reflected expression was ominous. "I was travelling on the Bifröst bridge, towards your kingdom…" He had not known where he was when the terrified scream of a woman had shattered through his unconsciousness. He had opened his eyes, only to find himself being dragged through a strange building by a large company of armed men, clad in armour made of cured reptilian skin. He had been thrown into a small and dank room, where he had been robustly threatened by a grimly cheerful woman who had claimed to be the head of the kingdom's army. He had not doubted the severity of her threats; for the length of his questioning, she had taken to sharpening a large battle axe and then resting its full weight against his leg. He retold to the princess the same story he had spun her; that, in light of the military difficulties the kingdom was having (of which they were most evident, as there was no mistaking the cause of the gloom and stress that could be seen and felt) he had been sent as an emissary from his own father, to offer advice and perhaps a potential alliance. There had been an accident on the bridge, sending himself and his men to fall between the nine realms until he had woken on the floor of the palace. The story had apparently convinced the army commander, who he had not seen since, and the story was pleasing to the princess, who gasped at many parts, her eyes and mouth wide. "I am most grateful for your hospitality, your most gracious majesty. I am sorry that I was no able to arrive in a more… approved manner. If you were able to send me to the Bifröst site within your realm, I would be able to return to Asgard, and bring back a more practical, diplomatic force for these purposes." Loki had concluded, in what he hoped was his most charming manner.

The queen had said nothing throughout his tale. She had eaten a meal of mealy, white flakes of what he assumed to be snake flesh, all the while staring at him, her face grave and unfathomable. Lily had sat behind her, slowly unpicking the copper curls from the hairpins, listening intently to his story whilst attempting to look disinterested and unapparent, as if she were not there at all. The queen took a long draught of her wine, tapping her fingertips against the cup. "This tale you tell… this is the truth of the matter? It is the entire truth of it, it is right, it is correct to the ma'at in your heart?"

"Of course. I only intended to come here to aid you in your endeavours." He did not understand what she meant exactly by the term 'ma'at', which was a word he had heard vaguely earlier. She had no means of either proving or disproving his story, and without absolute disproof she had no other option but to believe him. Then she would help him exit this wretched place as soon as possible.

"It is a shame for you that I am possessed of a rare and precious gift. You are probably unaware that the ruling princes of this kingdom are granted a unique talent upon our coronation. After all, you say that you are a son of the All-Father, which to me appears to be true," the queen gave the peculiar one-armed shrug, "and it has been a great wealth of time since any ruler of Asgard has ever given this kingdom any thought or consideration. Why, I believe that it has been a hundred years since a king of Asgard has even bothered to play a ceremonial visit to either of the two Kingdoms. So, it is most probably unknown to you, that as a queen I have been given the gift to sift falsehoods from truth, and I know that you have spent the day lying through your teeth to save your own skin. Tell me why you are really here, or by the mighty god Ra, I shall have the Lady Sekhmet turn you into sport for her own pleasure." Her voice remained at the same neutral tone, and was more threatening for it. It carried the implication that she did not care what happened to him at all, that it would not bother her if he were killed in the room on front of her. She would simply carry on her dinner.

"I don't know what you mean-" Loki tried to back pedal desperately, but Isis started to laugh and Hathor dropped her gaze to the table, suddenly eager to concentrate on spearing barley grains with her knife.

"You speak of the Bifrost bridge. This is impossible; the bridge collapsed over a month ago. You speak of coming here as an envoy, yet my husband would never appeal for outside help. It would wound his pride and lower his standing in the eyes of his people. So tell me how you really got here and why you have arrived now." Isis patted her mouth with a square of linen, and then patted her thigh. Lily laid her head on her lap, like a small child, and Isis began to stroke her head absentmindedly like she was a pet.

Loki tried to think of something, his mind whirling and reeling, thoughts running down mental pathways, looking, searching, trying to find an answer, any answer, when one struck him. He shifted his weight around on the cushion, to show discomfort and distress, and began fiddling with the base of his drinking cup, trailing fingers across the stems of the vibrant lotus design. "I…" He gave a pause, one long enough to stimulate interest, and to make it appear as if he found the words he was trying to say upsetting. "If you must know the truth, I never intended to come here, to trespass on your hospitality, and upset you at this hard time." He added another lengthy pause, and the queen gave an impatient hand gesture for him to continue. "It's not easy for me to talk about, but events led me to go to the Bifrost and… I was on it when it broke. I fell, fell through the stars, and fell… I did not know where I was or where I fell. All I know was that I woke up in your banquet hall this morning and that I was very grateful for the treatment I have been given in your home."

"You fell through the stars? Unprotected through the untempered schisms?" Hathor gave a little gasp, a childish affectation, her hands at her mouth. "That's simply awful! Divine Mother, you must ask him to stay with us! It will be no hardship to take him to the Bifrost site, and, and, if not, I shall hire a boat myself, I shall talk to my husband and…" She trailed off. Her little speech had left her flustered and flushed with excitement, but the mention of her husband had punctured it and she trailed off, her eyes huge and round with sadness.

"Hmmm." Queen Isis rolled her fingers in Lily's hair and the girl winced a little. "Well. We are sailing upriver tomorrow, towards Abusuir, and it is not far from there to Behbeit El-Hagar, where the Bifrost site lies. But it is not up to me whether you could use it or not. It lies on the land of a nobleman, the Lord Kamenwati, and he controls the use of it. However, he has disappeared and has not been seen since it fell. And not that you could use the site anyway! It is dead and the life has not come back."

"If you get me there, I know I can leave."

"Oh, really? How? Have you magic, or know how to travel out into the universe by yourself?"

"He could always ask an Oracle, if he cannot figure it out by himself. An Oracle could give him an answer." Lily spoke softly, her eyes shut, seeming as if she were far away. "The Oracle gives an answer from the gods themselves. They would show you the way, if your heart is pure."

"Don't be cheeky." Isis tapped the slave girl's nose with a finger, the first curves of a smile forming on her lips. "I suppose you could come with us to the Lower Kingdom, and I could order you to be taken towards Buto. That is my birthplace, and I grew up with the Oracle there so I know they would give you any answers you would need. But why should I? You have come into my home uninvited and tell me lies to my face. I ought to leave you behind with the jackals." The last sentence was a hook for something. She did not intend to leave him behind in the palace when they left. She wanted something, and he would have to offer it himself.

"Queen Isis, if you would take me with you, to the other kingdom, I would give you my loyalty –"

"Promises, promises. They are worth nothing from a liar."

"-I know you are fighting. I can tell there's a war on in this country. I can give you any help that I can, any assistance that you need, I will pledge it to you." He laid a hand across his heart, a gesture of humility and deference. There was still suspicion and mistrust in Isis's hooded eyes, but the smile began to grow in her full lips and she lifted her cup in a toast. She was exotic, almost enchanting, her face younger now it was happier. How old was the Crown Prince? His wife was fifteen, sixteen perhaps, but Isis had just the starts of lines around her eyes. To marry off a young child to a much older wife was a clear sign there were much deeper problems in the kingdom, much more serious than war.

"Know you this, that if you lie to me, or betray me in any way, I will not and cannot prevent the punishment you will get. There is a high penalty for traitors in this country. Your shade will never reach the fields of paradise. But you will find me to be a generous and loving mistress, and you will be greatly rewarded if you manage to help me in any significant way. I shall take you upriver with my court, and from there on, after the battle's won, you can do anything you choose to. May you live forever."

"May you live forever." Loki echoed, raising his own cup. Clearly, she did not trust him as far she could throw him. It was possible he might have imagined it, but he was sure that Lily, from her comfortable cat position with the queen, gave him a roguish wink. It was fleeting, and he thought that his head was influenced by the perfumed smoke of the braziers, as she did or said nothing more until he left the room.

* * *

**Some quick notes; talking about the scent of a woman's clothes and a desire to smell them was a metaphor used in ancient Egyptian love poetry, and was normally a pun for... well, sniffing something else, and let's leave it at that, shall we? The 'glint of gold' line is also famously Carter's first words as he saw the tomb of Tutankhamen. **


	5. Chapter 5

The morning was hot. Almost unbearably hot. The sky was bright, glassy and clear, the blueness crisp and never ending, until when the rolling desert sands rose to meet it. The river valley was an unexpected dip, a crescent of green life, entirely surrounded by the hostile, ever shifting yellow sands. In the distance, grand impossible buildings stood, built of a white stone that dazzled in the unrelenting sunlight. They were blinding and hurt the eye to look at. Loki had not woken up to an auspicious start. It had not helped that he found the nightly heat unbearable; even in the darkness, it had remained resolutely boiling and he found it difficult to sleep, more so than by lying on the lumpy floor, and the headdress, which was awkward to sleep on. More than once his head had simply fallen out of it. The noise of servants and noble families, moving furniture and possessions, had been constant since first light, and the little sleep he was able to get had been shattered by someone screaming out "Spray your water somewhere else, you filthy pig!" and another voice cheerfully threatening to crack his skull open.

Someone had taken his clothes in the night and washed them, before silently returning them, dried and pressed, without him noticing. Like everything else, they had been drenched in scent, strong and heady. While he was trying to consider whether he could wash them in the awful dank room they called a water stool, a bustling servant carrying jugs of water had come in with no care for an invitation, and informed him that most of the court were already on the ships, or were presently bathing. He understood he was to do the same. There was already the cloying pungent stench of sweat coming from somewhere, although he suspected it was probably impregnated in the walls. No wonder they used such great quantities of perfume on everything. After he was finished, the servant had come back into the room to oil his skin. She was entirely unembarrassed by the process, the forthright attitude of a woman used to nakedness and to waiting on other people. She explained that he would find that the desert winds would dry out his skin and she had heard of men dying of such things, yes, it sounds ridiculous, but know you this, it had happened to the brother of the wife of her uncle, and they hadn't even had to embalm his body, it was so well preserved. She had bowed after this and left the room. The slaves were so polite and deferent, bowing and falling over themselves in their desire to please, but this was combined with a persistent frankness and friendliness. It was rather jarring, especially when they left the room, only to talk loudly about how repellent they found his skin to be. The servants appeared to enjoy gossip, and when Kratas came to take him to the docks, there was a large group of them congregating outside, watching and waiting for a glimpse of him. They soon left, bowing and muttering to themselves.

The docks were a mile and a half away, by boat and by foot. Kratas was a lumbering brute of a man, tough in strength but soft in the head, with a ragged and chunky smile that revealed he had his front teeth missing. He was cheerful in his manner, talking in that insistent manner that seemed to infect the people of his kingdom. Everything was of equal importance to his mind. Look, we're coming out the palace, there's old Esho, she's running away from us fast! We'll be catching the Breath of Horus, once we get to the main city, travelling with the Blues, that's my regiment, you'll never find a nicer bunch of ruffians in any kingdom… and yes, they seemed a decent group of uncouth soldiers, who eyed him with obvious nervousness.

The Palace where he had landed was built in the twin city of Elephantine; twin, because the Palace was built on an island facing the city, built onto the bank of the vast river. It had changed overnight; it had been a vivid fertile green the previous day, but was an ominous swollen grey in the light of the new day. The city was not impressive. It was surrounded by a bright white limestone wall, which shone against the sun, but the houses inside were made from ramshackle mud brick, baked hard by the heat. They stood at two stories mainly, many with a reed roof on the top. He could see figures standing on the roofs, shaking out blankets or stretching – the houses appeared to have no windows, no means of letting cool air in, so the residents had universally resorted to sleeping outside. In stark contrast to the vast and ever present riches of the residents of the Palace, as they drew closer, he could see farmers in the fields, and wives washing at the river, and many of them did not wear a single stitch of clothing, save for perhaps a loincloth, or a band that went around the head to strap a child to a woman's back. Children ran along the river bank, waving enthusiastically at the hundreds of little boats carrying residents from the royal court, and they were all nude despite the power of the sun at this early hour. They all had the same peculiar haircut; their heads were shaved leaving one single plaited ponytail on the side of their heads, which seemed to hold a trinket or an amulet that bobbed along. A group of particularly brave ones clung around a small dock, where the boat carrying Loki (and what amounted to a bodyguard, along whether they were guarding him or guarding others from him was not exactly clear) their eyes round and dark at the sight of him.

"Are you a desert monster?" One asked, so completely encrusted with grime it was impossible to tell whether it was male or female. They showed no overt reluctance or repugnance towards him, just a sort of awed curiosity. The soldiers tried to shake them off, as they began to walk around the walls of the city, but the children followed them eagerly, running along behind.

"By the festering arsehole of Set, get out of here, you little ruffians." One of the soldiers cursed, aiming a blow at the bravest of the children, who ducked and missed it easily. The boys began to ask questions about the boats and about the upcoming war. They had a jovial attitude, an eager appetite for talk of war, one that was not shared by the anxious and drawn faces of the labourers. The peasant workers stopped to stare at the soldiers, a worry of bloodshed and an outright fear of the strange man who walked amongst them. They stared at Loki, dark eyes wide, as if they did not quite know what they were looking at. Some clenched their fists together in a particular way, others simply spat on the ground before them. One woman went so far as to physically drag her daughter away from the company, casting horrified glances at anyone who would pay attention. The people of Kemet (they did not appear to have a single unified name, or at least one they had mentioned thus far) appeared to be decidedly superstitious and uncultured, shying away from him as if he were some great and terrible monster from their nightmares. They were poor and dirty, and did not seem to be greatly civilised. The walls of the city of Elephantine, impressive from afar, were cracked at close glance, the sun having baked them rock-hard and no one appearing to repair them, and the stones were stained with yellow and brown streaks. Perhaps the city buildings themselves were grand and beautiful, but the houses that fell outside the walls were scant mud huts, tipping and leaning about the place as if they were tipsy. There were a few animals, dotted here and there, but otherwise the ground was given over to farmland that was densely irrigated. The marching cohort passed a small shrine on the side of the road, something that finally seemed to be in some way connected to the grand, airy and elegant Palace. There was a rough statue of a god with an animal head and was painted a bright gold. The rough shrine was painted in brilliant, dazzling colours, and every single square inch was adorned with bright flowers from the river. As they passed, the soldiers touched their hearts and lips towards it in a sign of devotion.

"Past this next corner, we'll be arriving at the grand docks. Now, they, they are a sight to take away the breath of any grand prince of a faraway kingdom." Kratas was a simple man, with a simple love for his country. He grinned at Loki and gestured ahead. The road bent and turned left, and as they walked around the bend, what looked like gigantic wooden buildings rose from the shimmering water. They were daubed with bright gaudy colours, and mystical figures and words, the ever present lotus, huge walls of wood that rose up high and he couldn't see the tops of. There was a huge crowd of people milling around, women and men and soldiers, talking and shouting and smiling, three litters pushing through the crowds, guards waiting at gangplanks and stopping men from going up, servants carrying huge weights of food and drink, a group of women making lascivious comments to all who passed them… it was an assault of colour, noise and smell on the senses. It was not ordered, it was not controlled, it was chaotic and vibrant and alive. The Blue Crocodile Guards began yelling and trying to push through the crowd, to drag Loki along. There was something wonderful in the crush of people; this was the true face of the people, not the stilted, simpering nobility or the stinking poverty of the peasants. There was power in the people here.

"Are you off to war guardsmen? Need a few minutes to calm yourself, man up yourself, or to celebrate being alive today?" A woman was stood in the opening for a low and noisy building that opened to the street; inside, it was dark and stuffy, filled with men playing some local board game and drinking. She could have been pretty, if her face wasn't hard and common. She wore nothing but a blue headband with a large and distinctive stone upon her forehead, and a skirt that was indecently short. She appeared to recognise Kratas and began to wave at him. "Bak her, brave Kratas, bak her indeed! Have one last time on my couch before you go – you'll swear that there is no other paradise."

"Move on Aloli!" Kratas bellowed back, his ears turning decidedly pink. "The queen and her retinue will be here soon, and they will not want their ears sullied by the screeching of a love mistress hawking her wares." The woman looked surprised, and then made a sign with her hands that surely no polite woman would have known, before flouncing off to talk to some other, more amenable men. Her skirts rode up behind her, and several of the guardsmen looked after her longingly.

"One of your friends Kratas? You don't look very pleased to see her." A sloping man with roughhewn features hold a sheaf of papers waved over at Kratas, his broad mouth cracked into a smile. He waved them over to where he stood, at the foot of a gangplank with a lustrous canopy, leading up to the largest and best decorated boat of them all. The man was of a middling height, with thick dark hair cut to around his chin. He had a rough handsomeness to his face, despite the irregularity of his features. His nose had been broken more than once, and it sat crookedly. He had bright eyes that were far too small for his face, and they had a jovial twinkle to them.

"What are you doing here Remrem? An idler like you, serving on the king's flagship? Lucky you're dipping your wick in the queen's inkpot, otherwise you'd never be in charge of this." Kratas gave the man identified as Remrem what would look like a friendly cuff round the head to an outsider, but seemed far too well aimed and hard to be as simple as that. "I'm afraid, Master Prince, that this is where the Blues leave you. This is the queen's ship, and this is where you shall be staying. You are of the highest status in your homeland so it is not fitting for you to spend time in the company of a crass soldier like me. You can spend your time with Remrem, who is a rogue of the highest degree, and has managed to ingratiate himself with one of the highest ranking women in the land." There was a spike in his voice, and Remrem's smile only grew wider.

"It is not my fault; I simply follow the plan of the gods." There was something a little smug in Remrem's voice, but he turned, and prostrated himself to the ground in front of Loki. "I am but a humble slave, and I would ask of you to listen to my also humble advice. I work for the steward, and I am bidden to tell you that you have rooms on this boat. May I rise?"

"You may."

"It is a load of fuss," Remrem said with a chuckle, stretching as he rose up. "It must be jarring to be suddenly thrust into our culture, without knowing much about it. You looked very lost yesterday – I was one of the slaves who found you."

"Not much of a slave." Kratas, who didn't appear to be leaving anytime soon, muttered with a mutinous edge. "Soon to be freeborn, with a free ride to the nobility."

"I apologise for his manner, it is not befitting for one of his station." Remrem intercut smoothly; he had been in service for some time, it was evident in his ability to control whatever emotions he was feeling at the repeated petty goading of the soldier. "He has let his anger run away with him. Are you finding yourself well treated in your time here? Do not hesitate to find me when we are sailing; I will do anything to help ensure your comfort, to the best of my ability in these difficult times."

"I want to get out of the heat, and inside my room."

"Of course. One of the queen's ladies is coming to show you to your room." As if summoned by magic, the slim figure of Wadjet – Lily – came walking down the gangplank, sauntering as if it were a cool autumn day, and she had no constraints or demands for her time other than her own desires. The two men stopped bristling at each other, and as they turned to the descending figure, it became clear that this was the source of the friction between them. The world turned, the tides flowed, but very few things changed – so much was devoted to the mundane.

"Your face is fine today, uncivilised prince." She smiled as she came near, dipping in an elegant approximation of a curtsey (her dress was closely moulded to her form). "I am to show you to your chambers on board. Come with me, Prince." She said the title with a certain mocking tone in her voice, much like the queen.

"Greetings Lily." Kratas cut in, his voice suddenly rather glutinous. He had still not gone with the rest of his men, resolutely sticking around.

"Kratas, I swore when I was girl of six and you were a boy of nine that I would have no truck with you again after you broke my bracelet the queen gave me, and I swore it upon the Horus of the sky. I am not a woman to turn her back on a promise to the gods. Besides, you are jealous of my betrothed because you only want one thing." Wadjet gave a sly look at Remrem, her eyes round and full of affection. "Will you follow me, Prince?"

"This is starting to get uncomfortably domestic for me." Loki chanced a smile and she laughed, a throaty hoarse chuckle that was raspy and appealing at the same time. She stood back, to let him pass in front of her, and in a swift move Remrem reached over and gave her a peck on the cheek.

This elicited a spluttering response from the enamoured soldier. "I do not want your dowry, Lily, I have no intentions for your money-"

Wadjet had begun to direct Loki when this was shouted at her retreating back. She stiffened, and turned on Kratas. "Oh, so you only desire what lies between my legs? Well, that's making my honeypot begin to throb like a frog's gullet. I could really love you." She snorted, and then began to run up the gangplank. "He is so lowbrow, it is quite unbelievable. He really thinks a few compliments and a jar of one palm quality wine, and he can have any woman he wants. For some reason his view has settled on me." She gave a roll of her eyes and the typical one armed shrug of her people.

"Lowbrow – him? I don't think I've ever heard a woman talk about herself that way, or at least in front of me."

"Then you can't have met a great amount of interesting women then." Lily countered archly. She stopped at a door and pushed it open, showing a much more opulent and better furnished bedroom than Loki had been treated to the night before. This one had a bedframe, albeit one with a thin mattress. The room was large, and decorated with more gaudy portraits of strange gods and noble people. The scant furniture had been made to look like fantastical animals; the bed had been finely carved to resemble a spotted big cat, complete with inlaid paws and a tail. "I hope that this room will be acceptable. This is next in status to the chambers of the Prince Anubis and the Prince Harpocrates; you're lucky, considering you come from a barbarian nation."

"I'm not a barbarian. And the last time I checked, this country fell under the rule of," he paused slightly, the word sticking in his throat, "my father."

The same one shouldered shrug. "Perhaps we do. I believe prayers may be said for him when the god is awoken in the sanctuary, but there is no greater king or nation outside the lands of Kemet. We have no other king. We need no other king." She trotted it out, parrot-like, while she bent over a wooden chest and began pulling out sheets for the bed. A great wave of scent came out with them, and with a sinking feeling, Loki realised that they too had been washed in the same sickly sweet fragrance as everything else in this country. With a briskness of manner, Lily began to dress the bed, and to air the linens.

"What does Isis want from me?"

Shrug. "She's my mistress, I can't tell you about her personal matters."

"What's happening here? What is actually going on, what's the war about? No one has actually said anything, it's all implication, and inflection, and whispers, but everyone seems unwilling to even let anything slip about the war."

Another shrug. "If no one has spoken to you about it, then I'm guessing they don't want you to know about it. Perhaps you shall be called in front of the War Council, I don't know. All I know is that I am beholden to my queen and the chief of her army, and I'm not going to incur their anger upon myself for you."

"Am I just supposed to wait here, until I'm called for?" Lily straightened up the mattress, smoothing down the sheets until she gave a self-satisfied nod, which rapidly turned into a rather ugly frown as Loki laid out on them. If he was to be treated like a fancy pet or a toy, to be petted and played with and then put away when interest was lost, then at least he could catch up on his sleep. The room was dark and humid, but comfortable enough. The bed was an unimaginable luxury after last night.

"We are all but servantile stars circling an imperial sun and moon. The queen is waking the God at temple, and will be awhile. You can wait in quiet solitude until you are called for." Lily bowed her head in acquiescence, before walking out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Lily ran a finger over the strings of her lute. One of the strings was out of tune, just slightly but enough to make her wince and she had left her tuning pegs back at the palace. It was frustrating. She tried the opening to 'The Sparrow and the Lion' but the bird note was not high enough, and no matter how much she tried, it wouldn't play right. The royal galley had set off from the docks of Elephantine two hours ago, closely followed by fifty other boats carrying the rest of the army and the royal court. The Queen Isis had been one of the last to descend to the flotilla of boats, having made sacrifice to the great gods Ra and Ptah in hopes of a safe journey. She had gone straight to the grand banqueting hall in the belly of the boat, which had been turned into a temporary war room. The royal family, sans the rest of the royal wives, the highest ranking of who were on another boat and the cream of the nobility of the Upper Kingdom were lodging on the boat. Most were ensconced in the war room, and it was unlikely they would leave for the entirety of the week long journey. There was a pervasive air of gloom that filled the hearts of all on this trip, many who thought that they would surely loose and be forced to swear loyalty and allegiance to the renegade Pharaoh Set. There were a few who were untouched by this sombre air; the young Princes, who were as excitable as puppies about the whole business, the Princess Hathor, who seemed to not have the mind to understand the true extent of danger, and Lily.

"You couldn't be happier about returning to the delta, could you? Grinning like a wild cat, and preening in the sunlight." Remrem had been granted the honour of travelling on the _Force of Nekhbet, _mainly due to the patronage granted to him by Lady Isis. Lily had been her favourite maid since her marriage to Pharaoh Osiris sixteen years ago, and there were few favours she would refuse her. Lily fulfilled the role of sister (since she dearly missed her own) and surrogate daughter, and Lady Isis treated her as such. Lily had noble blood, pure and old, with a lineage stretching back to the primordial mulch that had made the world. If she were a free woman, her name would be equal to the Lady Isis's in the temple lists, and freedom was a matter of magisterial decree. She should have been a child bride to a high member of the nobility. Instead, here she was, still unmarried at the ripe age of twenty and allowed to be betrothed to a fellow slave – and one of incredibly low birth at that. She had been stepping out with Remrem since they were both fifteen, but this would have been stopped very abruptly by Lady Isis if she had disapproved of it. Instead, she had encouraged them in any way. The people of the delta were decidedly romantic in their tastes. Lily would forever be a slave, for a wife took her husband's position in society.

"I can smell it. I'm coming home. I thought I'd never make it back; at least, while I was alive. My body would lie in the family tomb, but my spirit would be consigned to the wastes of the mountainous desert."

"It's nice to know that I'm going to marry a girl with a heart filled with such melancholy. If I had known, I'd have gotten myself married to a kitchen slave with dimpled cheeks." Remrem leant his head back against the wood of the rails, eyes closed against the strength of the sun. It was an unusual situation for them – to be free and unburdened, given enough time to enjoy each other's company. There would be no calls for their help today. The only job Lily had been given for the rest of the day was to play music for the Princess Hathor as she and her slave girls played Hound and Jackals; hardly the most onerous of duties, as it allowed the couple to talk softly to each other, hidden by the squeals and yells from the Princess and her girls.

"Dimpled in both sets of cheeks, and as fat as a river cow from eating pastries all the time. And she reeks of honey no matter what she does."

"We would have a brood of fat children who never go near the river for fear it would gobble them up. Unlike our children, who will be in and out of the water so much that they will be more like otters than men. People will say they have webbed hands and that they came from the river god."

Lily laughed. "Perhaps – if the court moves to Buto. If not, I would not have my children swim here. The river in the Upper Kingdom is weak and watery, and has no life in it. It's worse than the waters of the Underworld."

"I never found any fault in it. Aside from the fact that it will not rise this year, that's for sure." Remrem tapped the side of his nose in a knowing manner.

"What?"

"The steward told me. Says the civil war has caused too much trouble in the waters, and it will not rise much, if at all. Too much disruption, even with the intervention of a foreign prince." His eyes turned suddenly crafty, a look that did not sit well on his honest face. Remrem would always be a confoundingly honest man, loyal like a dog, and not one given for self-promotion or prestige. It was one of the things Lily loved about him. She could have had her pick of the vain, pompous men of either of the kingdoms – well, to be more honest, the Lady Isis would have had the pick for her – but he had the best heart of any of them. His status did not matter, especially considering her newly acquired wealth. His eyes flicked away, along the deck, to where Lily could see the strange prince had come upstairs to the open air. The Princess Hathor was already giggling massively; as she was want to do, considering her family history. Like mother, like daughter. He was an odd figure in the mid-morning sunlight; dark, like any of the countrymen, but white as… white as… well, she couldn't think of an apt description. As a very white thing, she supposed. He looked uncomfortable in the heat, his clothes being rather odd, almost exotic. He was covered entirely from head to foot, a practice most bizarre to her. It would be hot and bothersome, and it was not at all becoming in terms of smell or proprietary. What would happen if the court decided to stop to swim, which was never far from possibility? Were the women in his land like the barbarian tribes outside the kingdom; brutes who forced women to cover their bodies completely outside the home, who refused them to have contact with men that were not their husbands, or … well, the other practices of the barbaric tribes, especially those past the cataracts, did not bear thinking about. It was too horrific to contemplate. She had noticed last night he appeared to be ill at ease, not just about being threatened by the queen and finding himself lost in a strange land, perhaps because the women in his homeland were confined to more conservative attitudes and dress. She raised a hand in greeting.

To Lily's surprise, Remrem's face turned craggy with disapproval and he almost pulled her arm down but quailed in her disdainful gaze. "I don't trust him. I've heard from the Lord Steward-"

"What? You've heard what exactly, that differs from the trust of my lady in this matter? He's lost in a strange land, and I only want to be hospitable. I would presume that I would be charged with this task."

Remrem met her eye with a steely gaze that was alien to him. "We will talk of this more when there are none around us save the gods themselves. I am only concerned for your welfare."

"You don't have to be yet. I'm still serving my mistress. I'm not serving you yet." Lily felt unusually piqued by Remrem's attitude. He was not normally like this, being the most amenable man she had ever met, a stark contrast to her own blunder headed stubbornness. It would be the stress of war making him act this way - _and_ having to argue with that oaf Kratas. It did not take much for a woman to attract his interest (cleanliness and a willingness to give him the time of day appeared to suffice) yet she knew that Remrem felt hurt by his interest in her. It was a constant threat of her job, she supposed; many a man felt his esteem buoyed by flirting with a pretty slave girl, and she had always been good at her duty.

"Strange prince! You look lost and out of sorts. The noblemen and the queen are at council; can you condescend to sit with a Princess and her slave girls?" She gave one of her biggest and brightest smiles, and a little reluctantly, the Prince Loki came towards them, awkwardly walking around the Princess Hathor and her troupe of servants. "Come sit with us. I shall play you a song from a maid fit for country matters." It was her normal talk with noblemen, to act rather difficult yet saucy (for there was nothing a nobleman of Kemet liked more than for something to adore) but she could hear Remrem sigh and curse the carbuncles on Set's backside. She surreptitiously elbowed him and heard him grunt.

"I had thought they would be asking me to be on the council. It was the implication of that fraught dinner last night." He settled himself next to Lily, and couldn't seem to make himself comfortable on the wooden deck.

"Are you not accustomed to sitting on your arse back home? Or is it not the way of princes in your kingdom? Do the servants have to crawl about on all fours for the sake of royal backsides?" She gave a conscious giggle, hoping that he would laugh and smile the same. He was a decidedly glum man, she had decided. It was like he was a delta-man; it was common knowledge that those in the Upper Kingdom were dry and strong, like rock and stone, while those in the Lower Kingdom were passionate and prone to melancholy, as swiftly changing as the tides. It was simply a matter of forcing the waters to change.

"Constantly. They never leave my side. I'm incapable of doing anything at all, even less than the men I've seen here so far." He had taken the bait, for a conversation of jest and banter. It was the common currency of court; there were serious talks of the stars and politics and oh, the rules of architecture as set out by the god Imhotep, but you did not talk to pretty slave girls like that, no matter who they were. She was an ornament to be enjoyed, even if she preferred her conversation to be punctuated with barbs.

"Oh?" Lily raised an eyebrow at this. "And what do you know of the great men of these kingdoms? You have seen slave boys and crude soldiers, and they are no match for the great lords. And the Lady Sekhmet, of course. She must never be forgotten, she would not let us hear the end of it. She is as great as any of the men of this kingdom, without the alpha-male posturing. After all, it is widely known that she can best any one of them in strength and ferocity. And that is the only means to measure the men at council."

"You've basically admitted that none of them are the greatest thinkers."

"Not the men at council. If you are here for thought and not for war, then you must seek out my Lord Thoth, the tutor of the Princes. He has the intelligence to excuse himself from talk of war, and to live a quiet life of contemplation." Inside, Lily cursed herself. She always had a tendency to talk too much. She was a dunder-headed fool to admit she thought that the great nobles and commanders of the army were a collective group of mules, incapable of finding their own arses without the help of a servant.

"Lily can never forgive them for coming from a different kingdom." Remrem intercut smoothly, knowing that she had made a mistake and seeking to correct it for her. "No man can match her father for cunning; she will be forever compromised in her loyalty that way. An unfortunate patriot – she needs to remember that all those in Kemet are kin!" He waggled a finger at her. It was an old joke.

"Yes, we're all a family. Especially the ones we're fighting. 'All those of the Mother River call each other brother and sister, for they are all brother and sister'. It is a joke told about us in other kingdoms. One in very poor taste." Lily answered the Prince Loki's quizzical expression before he could ask.

"Why… oh. Oh. Is that implying what I think that's implying?"

"It's because the children of the gods, the Earth and the Sky, were brother and sister, and because Pharaoh and his Queen style themselves after them. And because it's common for people to call each other 'brother' and 'sister' when they are in love." She admitted in a slight undertone. "It is the way of doing things, because we are all joined in the love of the Gods."

"Apart from the other kingdom, who you are fighting, and we are currently sailing towards." Prince Loki said, rather too sharply for her liking. The conversation was moving onto topics she was rather uncomfortable in discussing. It was rather too serious for a trivial conservation held under a bazzara.

"It is obviously the destiny given to us by the Gods. Now excuse me, I believe I am being summoned by the Princess Hathor." She stood up, gave a slight bob of her head in acquiescence, and then hurried to the side of the young Princess. She was surprised by her appearance, but got over it by asking for a few verses of the Monkey and Donkey Song. Lily was more than happy to do so, and smiled and laughed at the silly words of the song, and the dances and giggles of the girls. She felt unusually bothered, and she was able to cast her thoughts aside as they made up new rhyming couplets for the simple tune. It was just this stupid war. She was just worried and the worry was making her stressed. She had her Mistress to think of and care for, not some foreign troublemaker.


	7. Chapter 7

The Lord Thoth, tutor to the young Princes, was stood in silent contemplation at the back of the galley. He was a tall, thin man, slightly stooped forwards, with a heavy hooked nose that made him look eerily birdlike. His head was entirely bald, and he wore no wig, something Loki had already learnt was highly unusual in this kingdom. As Loki's footsteps got closer, his eyes snapped open, and they were protuberant and beady. He did not greet him, and remained sat cross legged on the floor, closing his eyes again.

"Are you Thoth?" Loki asked, coming towards him.

"I am. And if you had have heard any knowledge of me, then you ought to know that I should not be disturbed when I am lost to prayer. Wait awhile, and I shall tell you when you may greet me." His voice was oddly high for a man of his stature, and went still after he had finished talking, rather like a wooden figurine. Loki sighed and leant against the wooden railings. The tutor would be a while, given the religious leanings of these people. They were highly pious, with psalms and chants to greet the sun as it rose and set, waking it and lulling it to sleep. There were several devotee figures set up in the ship, mainly in personal shrines belonging to the nobles, and these would be fed, watered and clothed as if they were needy children. It was a serious and solemn duty, Lily had explained, with serious ramifications if the Gods were ignored.

The sun would fail to rise, and souls and shadows would flee away, and everyone would die a second time. They were led in this by the seldom seen Queen Isis, who was seen as partially divine herself, as the station of monarch was a position of a God; upon coronation, a part of the Godhead attached itself to their being, so that they could rule the forces of balance and ensure the health and lifeblood of the country, mainly through ensuring the rising of the river each year.

Lily had been very talkative about her religion these past three days, showing a level of interest that warmed her eyes and flushed her skin, but she was reticent on what the exact nature of this supposed war was. She steadfastly refused to answer any of his questions, or to respond to anything that he said on the matter. She would pinch her face and walk away if he did, often to the side of the empty-headed Princess Hathor. He was trapped on this ship until they disembarked, with no clues as to why they had even bothered to bring him, and no ideas as to how to escape. His one thought was to go to the Bifrost site, but there he was stuck again. Indeed, the only one who would talk to him at any great length about anything (aside from the most pointless and vapid of things, such as dance, music or tittle-tattle gossip about people he did not know or care to) was Lily, and she was no use to him. She knew something, he was sure of that. Why else would she have winked at him? Other than a playful friendliness, he supposed, although she did not seem able to keep those attributes for any great length of time when they talked. She would simply get frustrated and leave him alone.

They had been sailing for three days and Loki was stuck as surely as any dumb animal in a cage. The closest he had gotten to the secret war council that rumbled in the belly of the ship, its members never seeming to sleep, was when a lord would occasionally emerge, grey faced with purple shadows, to spend time on deck away from the stuffy room and stuffy talk. Even then, they were reluctant to talk to him, some clearly thinking he was some sort of terrible monster. There was one, Astes, who would talk to him, but blanched at questions.

"The queen has commanded me to silence, and I must obey her." He would repeat endlessly, until this night he had finally cracked. "If you want to know anything about this war, go talk to Thoth. He's a stickler for truth, and will tell you everything you want to know, and probably a lot you don't want to know. He has a tendency to blabber on. He's got too much information stored in that head of his."

And so he had come to Thoth, who now turned to Loki, his eyes wide and alert, if amused. "I must trouble you for information. I was told I would be used to help in this war, but I'm afraid that I know nothing about it, and there is no one willing to talk to me about it. I was told you could help."

"I do not believe in keeping information from anyone, Prince of Asgard, but you ought to be more careful to whom you speak to. This might seem to be a court of fools, with nothing but their own amusement on their minds, but they are dangerous men who often resort to simple methods of secret keeping. It would seem that they do not trust you enough to include you on their council, or to even tell their plans for you." The man gave a cursory shake of his head, but Loki was unable to fathom what it meant. Did he think it folly? Or was he agreeing with their decision? He thought he had been able to convince the queen that he had not, at least, come here in malice.

"The queen herself-"

"Declared you a liar, and if there is one thing the Gods hate above all things, it is the spreading infection of a lie. They will know you as a liar and a deceiver, and you will be seen as a marked man for it."

"One man's lie is another man's truth."

Thoth's small eyes seemed to light up at this, and he gave a bright smile. "You've received some education in the principles of logic then, eh? Come and sit down here, and watch the river with me. Perhaps I shall tell you about the Pharaoh Geb and his two sons. It is a fine old tale that has not finished being written."

Loki came over to him, and sat in the peculiar cross legged manner that Thoth sat in. The river stretched out in front of them, long and still in the moonlight, as sinuous as a snake. It was a deep blue, almost black, the smoothness of it occasionally broken by a large clump of river flowers, their scent strong in the night air. Sometimes the bright, clear light of the stars ahead would be reflected by the large eye of an unknown animal that would descend into the waters. The tutor breathed in deeply, as if preparing himself mentally for something long and arduous. "Would the Pharaoh Geb be the father of the current king, Osiris?"

"Exactly. Geb was the king of the Upper Kingdom. Our country has been split since it was fashioned by the Gods, to lie in two halves – one of desert, and one of delta. It is harmonious like this. Now, the king of the Lower Kingdom died, and with him, his line died also. There is talk of a curse on the kings of the Lower Kingdom, but I do not believe in it. With one kingdom left with no king and no God to join with Geb to let the river rise, he decided that he would step down as king, and split the kingdom between his two noble sons, Osiris and Set. Osiris, the elder, would receive Geb's kingdom, whilst Set would rule over the Lower Kingdom. Two new brother loving dynasties would be forged, and they would rule peacefully in a matching pair most beloved by the Gods. To cement this holy decision, the brothers were married to a pair of twin sisters of the highest house of the Lower Kingdom – those would be Queen Isis, and her most loving sister Queen Nephthys."

"I should see why that would cause problems. No doubt each brother wanted to rule the entire country , rather than just a half." Loki said stiffly. This scenario was almost painfully similar, and bit into a rather recent wound. He felt an almost immediate, knee jerk, flood of sympathy towards the younger brother, who would have received nothing had it not been for the death of one old man.

"Oh, it did. Set had been declared the more worthy prince, after all, and thought it a bitter poison from his father that Osiris got to rule anyway. So, naturally, after the cheering crowds had gone quiet and he had had time to enjoy his young wife, he promptly declared war on his unsuspecting brother. Or at least he thought he was unsuspecting…" Thoth broke off and gave a wheezy laugh, revealing that he had lost many of his teeth. "Trouble was, his prong had risen up between his eyes, made him forget just who his sister-in-law was!"

"Lady Isis – Mistress of Magic. She guessed what was happening?"

"Foresaw it all, got the king to start amassing his armies and his navy and meet his brother on the field of war as soon as the banns of war had been read. Clever, for such a young girl. Set should never have underestimated how much she wanted to be a queen. She went everywhere Pharaoh went, never complained, followed the baggage train like a soldier's harlot. Gave birth to the Crown Prince on the banks of the river in a tent, like any common woman, and the next day was up raising the morale of the troops. Tremendous determination from a girl not yet fourteen." Thoth snorted loudly, wrinkling his beaky nose and sending something flying out from one nostril.

"And the war? What happened with that? Did Set back down? Did they declare peace?"

"There was a terrible battle at Asyut, and the Pharaoh Osiris was cut down from his chariot. A great groan went around all the men, for each passed onto his fellows that the Pharaoh was dead, he had been hacked to death by his brother, and that it would do best to capitulate to the rule of his brother, rather than to fight for a child and her infant." Thoth paused, knowing that Loki was held in his palm. The man was an engaging storyteller, and he was thoroughly enjoying telling the tale to a captive audience. He was probably enjoying being able to talk to another adult; he had noticed that that he spent all his time in the company of the young princes, and did not appear to spend much time with anyone who was capable of coherent thought. "And then from a pile of broken bodies, the bodies of men long gone on their journeys to paradise, a hand rose out, carrying the king's war mace. He stood up, blood pouring from a hundred wounds upon him, and all men fell to their knees, knowing that he had been delivered by the goddess from the fields of paradise, that it was a holy miracle. Set would not fight him again on that battlefield. The will of the gods had interceded in the matters of men, clearly intending that the brothers should declare peace and rule in harmony." He gave the customary one-armed shrug, as if he did not believe it to be so himself.

"A very clear sign for peace from the gods indeed. I presume that the Lady Isis was staying close to the battlefield, to be near her husband." Loki made his voice light and conversational, and was rewarded with the slightest of nods from Thoth. Isis had more power than he had previously suspected. The ability to bring the dead back to life – that indicated a strong magical force. It needed a lot of energy to drag the life force of another back into their body. It normally required one to surrender a portion of their own life energy; maybe even all of it, if the recipient was long dead or their body was too shattered to receive their spirit. It was not a spell normally attempted by a thirteen year old novice, unless they had considerable power. And if she were to use it once, she would use it again. The Pharaoh had disappeared, the Crown Prince also. If Isis got close enough they would certainly rise again. "So peace was declared. What's happened now, sixteen years later, to trigger war again?"

"Once Set fought for his boyish pride. Now he fights to restore his honour. The two Pharaohs met, and made sacrifice to their heavenly father. They signed a treaty saying that the boy child Prince Horus would marry the first daughter of Set, and that the first prince sired by Set would marry a princess sired by Pharaoh Osiris. If the brothers were to fall out again, the bonds between their children would prevent them from starting civil war again. And so Set waited.

"And waited. And waited. The years blessed his brother and his wives with many royal children. All those married to Set were as barren as seeds cast upon the desert. Nothing seemed to help; temples were built, sacrifices made, but it seemed as if the gods had cursed him for declaring war upon his own blood by making his lands and his women barren. This went on for five years, and for those five years the river did not flood in his kingdom. The two Pharaohs decided to meet at Sibha, and make sacrifice together with their families, in hopes of changing the god's ill favour. Some miracle must have happened that day, for Nephthys blossomed with child and nine months later gave birth to the Crown Prince Anubis. At last, he had an heir and all was blessed for him."

"And eleven years later Set decided that the gods were on his side entirely, and he wanted his brother's kingdom again; he wanted to restore the honour he lost from being forced to surrender." It made some sense, Loki supposed; Set had had his pride piqued and his religious awe had superseded his politics. But Thoth shook his head and grinned again, sucking air through the gaps in his teeth.

"A month ago, when that Bifrost bridge collapsed, it is said that the Lower Kingdom went into a frenzy. They thought the sky was collapsing and the will of the gods was upon them – they would all surely die! And so in the hopes of saving her eternal soul, Set's beloved wife and queen suddenly confessed to the sin of adultery. She had lain with another man, and had gotten pregnant with the Prince, Set's only beloved child, then. He was not the father of the Prince." Thoth paused again, to let the fact stew and simmer, and Loki realised what had happened.

"Pharaoh Osiris is the father of his brother's child? He thought it would be a good idea to sleep with the wife of a brother who had already declared war on him once, said wife being his own wife's sister. Twin sister. Who is now looking after the child and gathering up an army because he lost a battle against the brother. I am amazed that Lady Isis hasn't declared support for Set, and taken herself upriver before now – if only to get a chance to discuss it with her sister!" The dynastic rivalry of these joined kingdoms was a complicated and thorny issue which was really about the simplest of desires at its core. Power and lust. Set lusted for power. His wife lusted for a child (and presumably her brother-in-law). He knew that Set would not stop fighting until his anger at the treachery had abated and that his forces were greater. Supposing that Isis had guessed at his own magical ability, then she would have some plan in action to counter-attack him. If she were still loyal to her husband.

"The women of her house are dogged in their loyalty and grit. One only need look at Wadjet for that, if you can get past the prickles on her hide."

"Wadjet? You mean Lily? How so?" The slave girl and her mistress did have some degree of similarity in their features, it was true, but it seemed highly unlikely to Loki that the two would be related. Why would a queen keep a sister, possibly, as a personal slave, and marry her to another slave? For some measure of personal gratification, from keeping her beneath her constantly, forcing her to wait hand and foot on someone she had grown up with? To see their pain and humiliation on a constant, never ceasing never ending, day to day basis? Yes. That did make some level of sense, actually.

"Cousins. The queen's uncle, Lord Kamenwati, is Wadjet's father. Nasty piece of work." Thoth suddenly spat viciously, yellow phlegm flying out and sticking in a glutinous lump to the railings. It was a sudden flash of anger from a man otherwise unmoved, aside from glee at talking to someone, throughout his story. "May his spirit be eaten by the Devourer. The man was so uptight even the rod up his backside had a rod up its backside. He'd have been more welcome amongst your own people than here."

Loki ignored the slight xenophobic jibe. The name of Isis's uncle had tugged momentarily at his memory, the word writhing inside his head, before the events of his first night in this awful place swam to the forefront of his mind. Kamenwati. The lord of the delta who had gone missing a month ago, when the Bifrost bridge had collapsed. The lord who owned and controlled the land where the Bifrost site was situated. He pressed on. "What happened to make him sell his own daughter into slavery? What could make a man so vindictive?"

"Shame. It's as bad a poison to the soul as jealousy or hatred. He had a pretty little Taanite slave wife, name of Haréré, and they were happy enough together. They had a child, a mewling infant that they named Wadjet. But it was no good for him, no good for his honour. It didn't matter to him that men up and down the two kingdoms had slave wives. When he married two noblewomen to add to his harem, he was ashamed he could not love them with the same passion that he had for Haréré. So rather than simply admit he loved a slave, he sold off Haréré to be a woman for the army, and gave away his firstborn daughter as a wedding present to his niece. He turned as bitter as the salt lakes from that day onwards."

"I can imagine that she took it badly." Loki murmured, the beginnings of a plan starting to stir. It would be easy enough to ingratiate himself with the girl by playing on the presumably deep wells of hatred she held for her father. Sympathy for her situation, some meaningless platitudes about her mother… it would be easy to talk her into a position where she would willingly take him to her estates.

"She was four years old, and she had to watch her mother be forcibly dragged from the house where they lived and bundled into a slave ship. Three years later, she had to adjudicate the burial ceremony for her mother, after watching her stinking remains be bundled up after they were found by the side of an army campsite." Thoth spread his hands and gave another shrug. "It is well known she had no love for her father. Perhaps that has mellowed now she is the heir to his fortune and estates."

"She has the full possession of his lands then? Why would he leave his fortune to a slave?"

"Whatever caused his disappearance took his whole family with him. Left Wadjet with the richest dowry in either of the two kingdoms – two thousand fedan of prime arable land, five thousand gold rings, six estates, a hunting lodge… she'd be an amazing prize. But she's marrying a fellow slave, and it will just revert back to her mistress."

"Unless she frees her. Considering how she treats the girl, I'm surprised she hasn't done so yet."

Thoth turned on him, beady eyes equally suspicious and amused. There was something rather smug and knowing about the glint in his eye. "The queen could always be forced to set aside the marriage and to free Wadjet, if there was a man of higher status who desired her as a bride. With her breeding and bloodline, she'd be a fine choice for a governor, or a vizier, or perhaps even a prince. There has been talk of matching her up to the Crown Prince Anubis; depose the old king, put his son on the throne. Although I suppose she could be used as a pawn for more international politics. She wouldn't be my personal choice though. Too abrasive for me." He gave a dramatic shudder and snorted into his chest.

"I did not intend to give the impression that I was interested in marrying her myself-" Loki started to splutter, but Thoth stood up, waving him off.

"I hope I've given you the information that you needed. If you ever need a guide through the complex politics of the two kingdoms, I shall be happy to help you. But I must leave you for my bedchamber. The Princes like to wake at an early hour, so they do not miss the best of the day." The birdlike man bowed his head in obeisance at him. "May dreams of paradise waft you to your sleep."

* * *

**Oh dear. This chapter is just a massive information dump, enlivened by the fact that Thoth is rather fascinatingly disgusting. Enjoy! **


	8. Chapter 8

Lily jolted awake suddenly, her head lifting up from where it had been resting heavily on her arm. She tried to push herself up and into a sitting position, but her arm was numb and she struggled and gave up. The couch was too comfy anyway, and it was probably nothing. Just a cat prowling around, or a slave dropping something. She shut her eyes against the yellow brazier light and laid back down on her cushions, fingers knotting into the fur of the cat nuzzled against the back of her legs. The couch stood at the end of Queen Isis's bed, so that she might ever be ready for anything the queen desired at any time of the night. In these dark times, she would lay on her couch until the early hours of the morning, wandering the lands between wakefulness and sleep, until the queen would come in, half dead on her feet from exhaustion and stress. Lily would brush out her hair for her, wipe away the thick make-up that obscured the purple hollows under her eyes, and wrap the monkey fur covers around her. It was like caring for a child. The Lady Isis would sleep a little, dead to the world, and then wake to eat a bowl of thin broth, before she returned to the unending monotony of the war council. She didn't know how the queen was doing it. She didn't know how long she was going to keep on doing it. She didn't know for how much longer the Lady Isis expected her to keep the exact same schedule. They were both exhausted, and it was starting to impinge on their duties.

Lily thought that she could hear someone calling her name, but it wasn't the shrill tones of her mistress so it really didn't matter. She gave a contented sigh, and burrowed into the linen stuffed mattress. It was warm and soft and there really wasn't anything that would persuade her to get up.

A cold hand was gripping her shoulder, shaking her awake. She had no choice now. She groaned inwardly, and tried to hurriedly make herself presentable by wiping away the drool on her chin and the dust from her eyes. Opening them, with extreme reluctance, she saw that the Prince Loki was sat on the end of her couch. She straightened up like a shot, running a hand through her hair desperately, and trying to hide that she was wearing an old, spoiled tunic. She tried to blink herself awake and think of something suitable to say.

"Y-you- you're not allowed in my mistress's room. Is there something you need? You should really summon up a house slave, rather than come and find me. I might have been giving my lady a bath, or getting her ready for bed. It is most improper –" she broke off with a wide yawn, and covered her mouth with a hand. The cat yawned in sympathy, squished between the two. "I'm sorry, but it is very late at night."

"I am terribly sorry to bother you at such a late hour, but Lord Thoth and I were sat out on the deck and…" Prince Loki paused, as if what he were going to say was awkward, or even hurtful, as if he were concerned as to her reaction. It looked almost genuine… apart from the fact that there was a certain rehearsed quality to it, as if it were a look he had given many times before. Lily's eyes narrowed and she moved herself away, wary of his intentions.

"Yes? And what was so vital that you discussed it at such a late hour, and then came running to the queen's rooms?" Her tone was sharp, and she regretted it immediately. It was not befitting a woman of her station; she was letting the noble side of herself out too often in these long worrisome days, and it did her no benefit. For his part, the Prince Loki looked abashed and glanced away from her.

"Well, I wanted to know why whenever it is that I ask you a question about the location of the Bifrost you react to me so coldly. I mean, you appeared to know something, seemed friendly, and then you turned so suddenly against me. I didn't know why, until Lord Thoth told me why."

Lily went cold inside, a painful sensation of panic sweeping over her entire body, instantly numbing her fingers and toes. It had been her duty to be as friendly and convivial as possible to gain his trust, her mistress had said. That had been easy to do, something she had been doing all her life, as simple as to breathe. She had been as warm and as welcoming as she could be, and had found it enjoyable; he was an engaging and handsome man. She was not immune to that, despite her deep attachment to Remrem. And then the Lady Isis had felt it necessary to tell her what her plan was, what the strategy was for winning this bloody civil war, and it sickened her to her guts, no matter how much the country needed it. The thought of it made her breath clutch in her chest, and clammy sweat trace across her palms.

The Prince Loki placed his hand across hers, the strange blankness of his skin bright against the colour of her own. She could feel the pressure, a little, and that he felt colder than most. The hand was shaped and contoured by use of sword and reigns, the calluses and wear from a life spent in the chariot and in that most princely of pursuits – namely, war. Or at least fighting. Things were not so different in his kingdom then. No doubt he spent his time much like the Crown Prince Horus; in the instruction of fighting arts, learning statecraft, and the constant search for pleasure. There must not be much serious in his life. That would all change soon. His next words winded her, left her reeling in shock and pain and anger. "I was so sorry to hear of your father passing. I can't believe you let me keep bringing up the site – it must be like rubbing salt in a fresh wound, only serving to remind you of the pain, the pain from what you have lost…"

She was sure he must have continued, but she stopped listening. Everything swam before her eyes. The freedom the death of her father had given her filled her with a deep and intense guilt, seated right in her bones. He had snatched her away from her mother's hand, only to be snatched away himself by the hand of the gods, taken with all his family. They belonged to him, solely, no connection to her, and now Lily stood as the remnant of the once proud dynasty. She felt no grief for her father's passing. There was an anger that burnt like fire, and a great guilt. The gods would punish her for the pleasure of his death, she knew that, and here was a prince, mistaking her silence and her fury for sorrow. She pulled away from him, drawing her knees to her chest, dislodging the cat who protested quietly. She felt at a loss, unsure how to react. She returned to the simple arrogance of her noble blood. "Yes, well. It is not proper for you to be here. It is not right that you are here, alone with me. You will be skinned alive by the guards if they find you, for daring to set foot in the queen's chambers a man entire. Your birth won't protect you." She was just unnerved at how he was treating her, that was it. She was used to being treated as an object, desirable or controllable. This was relatively new territory.

The Prince Loki held up his hands in appeal for forgiveness. "Again, I am sorry. For everything. I shan't disturb you further." He stood up from her couch. As he walked away, he bent his head in obeisance slightly. Why would he do that? He had not shown respect to the Lady Isis in this way, why should he do so to her? What did he want with her? She was settling down into an uneasy state, watching his retreating back when he stopped, paused and turned back slightly. "And I must commend you for your steadfastness to –what is his name? – Remrem, despite what is being said." And at that soft, resonant sentence, he left the room, leaving Lily alone with her thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

Lily was not to be seen at all the next day, so it was impossible to gage her mood and temperament. It did seem likely that she would take the bait, but it would be difficult to predict her reaction. She seemed rather volatile; a cold and calculating mien hiding a violent and turbulent soul. Loki spent the day sat under the bazzarra, trying to keep as cool as feasibly possible. The immense heat was only growing the further upstream they got and it was almost unbearable. It did not seem to affect the countryside around them; he had watched it change from the dead yellow deserts, filed with shining white tombs to glorify the dead, and saw the thin green strip of land that surrounded the river widen, grow more lush and fertile, with vast fields surrounded by giant boundary stones and fat healthy animals. There were small villages and towns, filled with mudbrick huts, painted in bright colours. The inhabitants would come out their homes to watch the royal flotilla sail past, and some ventured out on small fishing skiffs made of reeds to come close to the royal galley, waving them on with green ribbons and banners. They were tall and proud, the women fecund and pleasant looking. These were kingdoms of great untapped wealth. The unique position of the river waters and the constant exposure of the sun made this kingdom flourish in an inhospitable environment, the people resilient and resourceful. As much as he hated the heat, the stink, and the attitudes of the royal court, this was a country that would benefit further cultivation. There was potential.

He sat and waited. The girl Hathor, believing herself to be great and beautiful, attempted to draw him into conversation with her. She was still a young girl, with a plump jaw, who did not seem to understand much in the way of politics. She blabbered on, with no wit or reason, and revealed to him what Thoth had kept back: that the Pharaoh Osiris had met with an army against his brother, only to be captured by Set's forces. The Crown Prince Horus, Hathor's husband of only six months, had raced to rescue his father – only to end in the same situation as his father. They were both children lost in a world of men, playing for things they did not understand. She laughed loud and often, giggling to herself, before attempting a mask of seriousness. It was not her fault, he supposed. It was the fault of her tutors for not preparing her for the role she had married into.

They were fed, and watered, and slaves danced and played music, and board games were laid out, and riddles were said, and the day dragged on. The royal family spent their life in idle, vain luxury, minds rotting away. No wonder that their kings were so eager to fight each other. It must be the only escape from the monotony of life. The lush velvet of the night descended slowly, inching across the sky as if trying to prolong this torture and an ill-boding chill wind blew across the deck. Hathor gave a rather melodramatic shiver, making a nude slave girl wrap a woollen shawl across her shoulders.

"It is unseasonably chilly for this time of year. I think the gods are displeased with all this warfare, they are setting the year out of balance!" Hathor shook her head, playacting for the sake of some of the gathered mixture of courtiers and servants, who reacted much of a muchness to each other. It was a wonder they were not sent mad through boredom. On the edge of those gathered, the craggy features of Remrem were illuminated against the flickering light of a torch, and the slight figure of Lily bent towards him to whisper to him, her lips close to his ear. He tried to reach out, to stroke her face, but she pulled back from him. Her face was a picture of anger, her eyes glinting on the low light. The idea had clearly taken hold. She picked her way quietly through the crowd, and gave a bobbed curtsey to himself and the Princess.

"Forgive me, most noble majesties, but I have been sent to bring you to the war council at once."

Hathor sat up immediately, a current of shock travelling over her face, her eyes wide with fear. "Is there news of my husband? Is that why I am sent for?"

"The message is not for you, Princess. The news remains the same, as ever, about the Prince. Come now, Prince of Asgard, the lords do not like to be kept waiting, and they are especially short tempered as of late."

"There is not much they could do if I chose to take my time." Loki said, stepping down from his chair to follow the slim figure of Lily. She turned at his words, a brow raised quizzically. She rolled her eyes massively, for the benefit of those sat around on the deck. They nudged each other, looking forward to a spot of drama to enliven the evening.

"Oh, are you so sure? Well, their sword scabbards have been wielded on the buttocks of many a royal prince, and I doubt that they would see you as anything different. I should imagine that if Lord Djadao is still awake, he would fight others for the privilege." A great laugh went out across the deck, her words clearly referencing some well-known courtly joke. She gave a throaty laugh as her supposed wit was acknowledged, but her face fell as they walked inside. She gave a tired sigh and shook her head as if to clear her mind.

"I suppose you think yourself quite clever in conversation." He said to her, as he followed through the dark and humid chambers that lead down into the belly of the ship. "Servants aren't granted the liberty to speak like that to their betters in Asgard. Although, they don't have the benefit of your birth."

"It brings me so many benefits, it is true. I get to be in servitude to a girl like the Princess Hathor.." Lily gave a tight lipped smile. She strode forwards, her shoulders set. She did not say anything else to him as they climbed deeper into the ship. It grew darker, more damp and humid, the decoration less ornate and more practical. There were no slaves on these levels. They met not one solitary soul as Lily led him through the twisting maze of corridors, which all seemed exactly alike, guttered tallow candles giving off a low, loathsome light that added an unnatural caste to the skin. They finally turned to a low doorway with a peeling painting of a fantastical woman with a pair of wings upon it. Here, Lily swung round, and leant against the damp wood of the doorframe. "I want to know what it is that they say about my marriage to Remrem. You must tell me, or I'll… I'll…" The fire of her anger drained at this point, as she realised there was not much she could threaten him with.

"Must I? I'm afraid that princes must not do anything for slaves, especially not for slaves who publicly humiliate their masters. Now, excuse me, but your mistress has sent urgently for me. I'll find out what I need to do so I can get out of this country and back on my way." He made to get past her, brushing her away, but she grabbed his arm. Loki had been expecting this. It was easy to see the wide streak of arrogance in her; it was the most noticeable thing about her. She acted like she desired nothing more than to be a simple servant, to marry another slave and to live in peaceful anonymity, but her actions told otherwise. She was a proud creature, with an insolent desire for attention from all. She had a high opinion of herself; one he thought would be crippled from the inside with a suspicion of constant rejection. Her face was white with anger, but there was desperation in her eyes. The barb had hit home.

"I thought it would have been made clear to you that I own the land that you need. Without my permission you will not be allowed to go home. Now, you tell me what is said about me."

He made a show of offence and pulled his arm sharply from her grip. "I was told that instead of the girl Hathor marrying the uh, Crown Prince Horus, you were nominated as a more worthy bride before your mistress chose another. They say know that you would be an ideal match for the Crown Prince Anubis, but that your mistress would prefer if you were married off to a slave. You can talk about these domestic matters later with her, but there's just a small matter of a civil war that is damaging the fabric of your country. I hope you can understand." He left her leant against the wooden partition, her face a picture of confusion and hurt, as he stepped into the airless war council room.

The brazier smoke was choking thick, encasing the room in a thick grey fog, greasy with scent. There was a vast long table down the centre of the room, with a map of the two entwined kingdoms upon it. There was some magic upon the parchment, as the little figures representing the opposing armies and the royal ships hovered upon the page, moving in infinitesimal increments. One cohort of what he presumed to be soldiers were held up by a carelessly placed wine goblet, waiting patiently for the owner to move it. Fifty or so men were gathered around the table, and these nobles were far more impressive than the decadent sycophants sat above deck. They were grizzled giants of men, with considerable bulk and muscle. Each had his own individual mutilation, be it an eye missing, or a nose, or limbs – Loki supposed how it was they told each other apart, for they were similar looking and much of the same mould. Some wore great weights of gold chains about their necks, that glittered dully in the murky air. They all looked upon him with appraising eyes, and they did not like what they saw. An insistent muttering started as he entered the room, and swords were rattled in scabbards as a sign of disapproval.

"I am glad that you decided to stop arguing with a slave and finally come in amongst the men. And the Queen." Sekhmet, a woman in name only, whose body was a scarred work of art, stood up to greet him, slapping a hand on his shoulder. There were smiles around the table, which were poorly hidden under hands missing fingers. The queen sat at the very head of the table, a picture of feminine elegance amongst the uncouth soldiers of her realm. She wore a smile more befitting a statue, and extended a hand to the seat next to her.

"I do not entirely trust you, but in times of dire need one must not ignore all the resources at hand, and I have found a need for you. Here, take a drink." As Loki sat next to her, watched hawkishly by all in the room, Isis poured him a cup of a wine that was a vibrant red in this drab room with her own hand. A sign of honour. "It is much better quality than what is served on deck. Five palm quality, and very rare. Drink. I have not poisoned it – although I would not put it past the men in this room! They would rather cut you down where you sit." She laughed, seeming to find it all a joke. The frank and direct glares of her council, and how many hands were clenched on weapons, did not match her forced jollity.

"Thank you." He took the cup and politely wet his lips against it, before setting it down again. "I would presume that you called me here for my role in the war you are waging, so that I might gain my way home."

"We are the lords of various divisions of the army," began the man sat closest to Isis, thick set, with an almost purple face and skin more like animal hide, pitted with hundreds of scars and healed wounds, "and we have been organising the strategy by which we will destroy the forces of the black pharaoh." He paused here, as the assembled men beat their hands upon the table, crying out 'Bak her!' in a sign of support. When the noise had died down, the original lord continued. "Our forces will circle around the camp of his traitorous forces, reaching where our own army is captured. We free them, and then we kill all who comes before us, and we shall free the divine Pharaoh Osiris and the Crown Prince Horus. We are outnumbered, yes, but once we reach the trapped divisions in the valley outside the city, there shall be none who can stand before us."

There was another break to cheer 'Bak her!', as the lords congratulated themselves on this plan. It was simple and was most likely to fail spectacularly. It relied entirely on the premise that Set's forces (who would be well-rested, well-fed, and well-supplied) being entirely blind, and ignoring the tip-toeing of hundreds of heavily armed soldiers around them, exposed and poorly defended. It would be a bloodbath, and it looked as if Loki would be smack on the front line, no doubt forced to fight by any one of the threatening brutes of men crammed into this small space. "I see. That is indeed an excellent battle plan –" with a burst of inspiration, he picked up the wine goblet and toasted them, "bak her, lord. What part have you decided for me?"

Sekhmet, awful creature she was, smirked slightly, her lip curled. "You have an uncertain loyalty, young prince. We do not know your motivation or your desires, and you dishonoured our hospitality with your lies." She laid a scarred hand with crooked fingers across her chest. "You might think of us as uncivilised, or as degenerates from spending time with the aristocratic youth, but the people of the river and desert are open in their emotions. We wear our hearts as a badge of honour, for we are all a part of the balance of life. We are all brothers and sisters, with a shared destiny granted by the gods. How can we trust one such as you on the frontline? You might run to the court of the black pretender, and swear your loyalty to him if it gets you back to your home and your mother."

"Lady Sekhmet…" Isis murmured gently, in a voice like ice that cut through the room. "It is ungracious of you to behave in such a way to my guest. Bite your tongue and do your duty."

"Forgive my attitude." Sekhmet gave a curt nod, displaying a contriteness that did not go to her eyes. "I am tired and under pressure."

"I shall forgive the offence, but it is not me whom you offend. You can restore your honour later. Now please continue." Isis had not been fooled by the pretence made by the commander of her army, but she let it slide in a way that made the blunder all the more obvious. Sekhmet squirmed slightly, her pride prickled and belittled in front of her peers.

"Yes, my most divine queen. We cannot be sure whether we should trust you on the frontline, so we have set you the task of watching over the royal women in their sanctuary."

"You don't trust me enough to fight alongside you, but you trust me with the task of looking after the royal women? All the assorted hundreds of wives of your king and all his princelings and princesses?" Loki's tone was perhaps too sharp for comfort with the men of the council, who hissed loudly through their teeth and began rapping the table with their fingers. This was not their plan, that was obvious. There was something else, forcing them to play this hand. Sekhmet was clearly doing this against her will; her will, as evidenced by the tension in her body language and the clench of her knuckles. The susurrus of noise came to an abrupt halt as Isis raised one slim hand to silence them. She was in complete of control of this situation. This was her plan and her intention – but to what purpose?

"It is not a taxing duty. The main body of the army have already disembarked here-" Sekhmet reached out and tapped a small city on the map with a stubby finger, "- yesterday, and are marched upwards to meet up with the rest of our forces, and the war council here, tomorrow noon. The royal wives have come up to accompany the army, as is custom, but you will aid the transport of them to the temple of Ptah. They will sit in sanctuary, safe from any enemy forces."

"They are forbidden from entry. No one with blood lesser than that of a noble is allowed to even step within the walls. They could force entry into the sanctuary, but they would risk casting themselves eternally to the loving ministrations of the Devourer. You shall be the first not from these lands to see the inside of one of our temples. You should be honoured that I vouched for you." Isis smiled complacently to herself, and there was no doubt that this was yet another thread in the uncomfortable, frustrated tapestry of emotion in this room. The great and the good of the Upper Kingdom resented him because he was strange, he was untrustworthy, and he was being given great opportunities, above and beyond what they would willingly give (which would be a courteously sharpened axe and a pre-dug grave).

"You are as gracious as you are beautiful_. _I hardly deserve the kindness you have displayed to me." It was an accepted doggerel of courtly rote which struck the right note. It was how the upper echelons of society talked to each other; much was said, and most of it contained very little meaning. The platitude was nodded at, the lords slightly more comfortable with his presence as long as he behaved as expected.

"Ah, I must be told that at least twenty times a day. It is lucky that I am so happy in my divine husband, else I would be a glutton for choice of many fine young men. And many old." This was met with a few genuine chuckles from the lords, before Isis clapped her hands together. "We ride to battle tomorrow noon, my fine lords of this beloved land, and we shall spend tonight in sacrifice. Depart from here and purify yourselves before we enter the sanctuary. Give your servants the night off – and definitely do not amuse yourself with them Djadao!" She waggled a finger at a man with a pronounced paunch and a hide like animal skin who looked to be in equal parts abashed and amused at having been picked out. He had his back slapped by his neighbour, who had personally found the slight jibe to be raucously amusing. The council got up, began to bow and scrape and say her praises in extravagantly poetic terms. Loki made to stand up with them, but Isis put her hand over his wrist.

This had been a façade. There was another plan at work here. He could see it in the eyes of Sekhmet, as she turned to shut the door and bowed to the two of them. The room was much bigger, cooler and clearer without the pungent bodies of the military men and the baleful influences they brought. They were left with two slim men. One wore a tight white skull cap, his nose pronounced and hooked, a bright white shawl across his shoulders. He was considerably older than the man next to him, whose head was shaved and apparently polished to a brilliant shine. He wore the skin of a wild cat about his waist and a stunning pectoral plate of gold, depicting a man crafted from gems. They had no arm hair, eyebrows, or even eyelashes; their skin had been plucked of every hair, and oiled until they gleamed.

"A man of your considerable talents would be very poorly wasted on the simple task of overseeing some wailing women, and comforting them in their fear. It's a job fit for a steward or a slave, not a royal prince." Isis's tone was a lot less jovial; she dropped the devoted wife mask entirely, her voice and inflection becoming graver.

"I hardly thought that you would be relying on that idiotic battle plan. Whoever thought that up is either simple, a mad man, or a traitor, lying in wait to kill you all. It'll be a bloodbath. Your forces will be cut down as soon as they reach the valley, and your kingdom crushed. How am I to serve you, and prevent your men being hacked mercilessly into your underworld." His tone was perhaps a shade too flippant, as her mouth shut itself into a severe line and her eyes narrowed.

"The battle plan will work, but it relies on the cunning and skills of myself to succeed, and the help of my high priests and you. These two men," she gestured to the recently identified priests, who were keeping their expressions set to civil neutrality, "are the high priests of the temple of Ptah, where we will be sequestered for the time of the battle. They will aid us in our endeavours, and provide us with the tools that we need. We are going to cast a most potent spell, an ancient one, that will bring down the wrath of the gods on my brother-in-law's forces, and allow us the advantage."

"You are a woman of considerable talent yourself, if the stories I have been told are true. I am willing to help you, freely and gratefully should it get me on the path home, but I must ask you why you require my help." The Mistress of Magic, she was called. If she were a mistress of the magical arts, then there ought to be no need for her to seek the services of anyone else. Again, there was a secret motivation, hidden in the layer of the previous one. Isis was planning something big or drastic, and taking pains to conceal her plans as best possible. She would not reveal the final aspect of whatever grand scheme she was setting course onto, he knew that for sure, and there were only four others who knew exactly what was going on: the two priests, the unruly Sekhmet, and the slave Lily… who was both angry and distressed about what she knew. The moral core hidden under her presumed coldness was offended by whatever her queen was planning, but her inherent bitterness prevented her from going against her orders.

Isis gave the typical one-shoulder shrug. "It is a powerful spell, far too powerful for me to handle and control. It would eat away at me, drain the life from my bones, and then it would be uncontrollable and unstoppable. You help me with this, and I will give you safe passage to wherever you need to go."

"You said the Bifrost site was dead – not that it is your land to decree with."

"Arrangements can be made. Now, I have to be purified before I make sacrifice. You ought to return to your rooms. You will wait there until the ship docks, and you are fetched to ride to temple. I believe the servants will probably have some kind of raucous celebration on deck tonight, in case we all die tomorrow, but you need to keep your mind and body pure. The slightest speck of dirt can spoil the grist." Isis had frowned at the reference to her slave, as he suspected, although he had no idea what it might mean. A mark of hatred or care perhaps – or just frustration at the situation. She had a husband and a son to save, and no time to argue with some creature from another land. Her veneer of graciousness was growing thin, not that it had been substantial to begin with.


	10. Chapter 10

The scissors were cold and heavy in her hand, sniping at each soft lock of bright hair with an almost pleasant sound. She combed out a lock with her fingers, then cut it close to the root, as close to the skull as she dared. It was a travesty to cut such beautiful hair, Lily thought. It was one of her mistress's greatest treasures, and it was one of her duties to comb, wash and trim it, rubbing it with dark silks to make it shine. Religious custom dictated that the body must be as pure as possible, rid of all imperfections, and body hair was considered one of those. The Lady Isis had been bathed and dried, and as Lily began to remove her hair, other slaves were plucking her body hair, beginning to paint the pale make-up that would eventually cover her entire body. Her mistress was shivering slightly from the coldness of the cream being applied to her skin and a little from anticipation. The other greatest treasure of the Lady Isis's life was to do magic, and the prospect made her almost girlish with happiness, despite the terrible circumstances.

"This is such an old spell. It was by the grace of the gods I was even able to trace its existence. It was long thought to be naught but a myth, a tale to warn adepts who sought forbidden knowledge." She was chattering like a child, talking faster and more excitedly than in years. "A spell to bring on a khamsin controllable by the will of man… it is the answer to everything." Lady Isis gave her bronze reflection a wide smile, but stopped when she saw the expression of her slave. "Be happy for me and for your countrymen Lily. It shall be a joyous battle."

"You know my problem with this plan." Lily gave a stiff response, brushing away stray hairs from her mistress's shoulders.

"You need to learn how to make difficult decisions, if you are to be any good as a wife." Lady Isis smiled again, a rather knowing smile from a long married woman to the (supposedly) blushing bride. "How long is it now? Five, six weeks? You two have been waiting so long to get married, over a year now. I think it shall be for the best if you were to get married as soon as possible. Would you enjoy a battlefield ceremony? Fitting I think, showing the rebirth of peace and love through the love of two individuals joining each other… what is the matter with you?" The scissors had dropped from Lily's unresisting hand. They had fallen to the floor with a clatter, narrowly avoiding spearing Lily's foot, and she had leapt away with a shriek. The point had stuck into the swollen wood of the floor, and the scissors wobbled back and forth. The Lady Isis looked at them, and then up at Lily's face. "Something has been upsetting you for a very long time. What is wrong with you?"

What _was_ wrong with her lately? It was true, something had been eating away at her for a while now, some malicious insect that she was unable to swat or understand. She had spent the last year waiting anxiously to be married to Remrem, pocketing away little things for their married life, sewing a new dress, and earning a beautiful gilt girdle from a lesser noblewoman – but why was she suddenly apprehensive about it? Yes, she had never intended to get married. She'd never really thought that she would make a good wife. Her father, on the very few times they'd met, was fond to describe her as akin to a highly-strung horse; passionate, emotional, and prone to break underneath pressure. Not one to subject herself to the rule of man, even though the position of wife was freer than the lives of most other women. She had been content to live out her life by her mistress's side, and to be free to live in servitude to no man.

Lily had met Remrem when she was fifteen and he was twenty. He had been a slave to an architect in Karnak, but the steward of the household had seen promise in his abilities and bought him from his old master. He had been so young then, and so wide-eyed and unsure about himself. He had gotten lost in the palace on his first day, and she had come upon him wandering the meandering corridors aimlessly, hopelessly and utterly lost. She had laughed at him being lost in the giant complex that was her childhood home, a building she knew as well as she knew herself, and he had accused her of being a thief. Lily could remember looking up at him, thinking him so handsome and manly, so different from the other men at court, and asking him shyly what he meant. He had been rather dramatic in his answer: that she had stolen his heart away. It had thrilled her so, when she had been young, but she had never considered it to be serious. They enjoyed each other, that was all. Women in love were ridiculous things – they were like dogs, desperate, and slobbering.

Well. That was then. This was now. And that moment, when the world had spun about upside down and everything had changed. When she was nineteen, just a year ago, she had received the worst possible news. She had been reminded of the chains of family commitment. The two courts had gone on a hunt for birds on the river, and the detestable snake that was her blood father had requested to see her. He had urgent news, Lily had been told, so as any dutiful cast-off daughter would, she had seen him. She had been told that he was in the process of auctioning her off as a bride, and that while two particularly loathsome old goats were willing to match her slave price, he was finding himself unwilling to lose control of her dowry. It would be a better match for her all round if she were to marry her eldest half-brother, keep the family fortune in the family, and make sure that there would be another generation to inherit.

She had sobbed for hours in Remrem's arms, crying that she would rather take the way of the goddess than submit herself to that degenerate she refused to call brother. She would break and die, fade away and give up the gift of life to bear herself into the arms of Ptah. Remrem had been so very patient with her. He had remained silent and strong for her, while she wept herself to exhaustion, and then suggested that they would marry. She would be far from the clutches of her father and her brother. It would just be a matter to get permission from her mistress to marry, and Lady Isis was of a disposition to give her anything that she wanted. It was simple. He had been so definite and confident in his plan that Lily hadn't been able to stop herself from loving him.

It was the power of it all, she supposed, that she had found so attractive. He was able to save her when she most needed of it. He was what she needed most in the world at that point in time but everything was different now. Remrem's power in this situation, some part of why she loved him so dearly, was completely gone with the death of her family. There was no shadowy figure waiting on the side-lines to push her into a horrible situation. She was free from that. She no longer needed to be married. She honestly didn't know whether she wanted to anymore. It wasn't necessary anymore and…

She thought it awful, that she should even think of it, but being told that she had been considered to be married to either of the Crown Princes... that changed everything. Maybe she had always been in love with the idea of power, and that was the whole truth of it. Lily had always sought to be the best at court; it was not enough that she was the best beloved companion of the queen, but she had to be praised as the most articulate, the most beautiful, the most accomplished and the most desired of all the women. It had been like that for so long now that the feeling of being desired was like a secondary skin. That had changed, of course, with the marriage of the Crown Prince Horus to the Lady Hathor. The changeling princess, as she was called behind her back, her mother's reputation well known at court. It was a petty jealously, but one that ached with each passing day. Lady Hathor was nothing compared to her; she was stupid and childish, but the bitter gall of envy had ballooned now that Lily knew she might have had her place. It was such a swift and sudden reaction that she barely liked to think of it, and if she allowed herself the chance to daydream, they felt dark and spiked inside her mind.

She shouldn't be dwelling so much on it. There were far more important things to worry about than her marriage and what might have been. Even though with her noble birth she was a far better candidate for either of the Princes. She gave a decisive yank on a lock of hair, and cutting it free was very satisfying. Lady Isis gave a grunt of pain.

"What is wrong with you? Are you worried about getting married? Tell me what is going on. If it is a problem that can be solved before I make sacrifice, then I shall give you my time. What is important to you is important to me."

Lily paused for a while, unsure how to answer. She busied herself with brushing the loose hair from her mistress's shoulders, gesturing for a slave girl to sweep away the hair from the floor. It was roughly cut close to her skull now. Lily swept her fingers through it, to check the length and how damp it was, and then picked up the bronze razor from the side table. She began the laborious process of shaving Lady Isis's head clean. "I suppose I am. I am not sure if I even want to get married any more." Her hand shook a little as she admitted this, but she avoided grazing or nicking the skin.

Lady Isis was silent for a long while, mulling over this confession, her reflection in the mirror unreadable. "Is he cruel to you? Has he ever hurt you?" She asked finally.

"No, no, it's nothing like _that_. He could never bring himself to hurt anyone and I would never let something like that happen to me." Lily added hurriedly, realising the mistake she had made. She would have to tread lightly around the situation, if she wanted to find out the truth. Apprehension was wriggling in her stomach, hot sweat beginning to prickle and burn in her armpits and on her brow. It was the worst time to ask, but she had to know for her own peace of mind.

"I'm glad to hear that otherwise I would have to rectify that. Do you still love him? You seem to be very happy with each other. Two halves of the same soul meeting together, like in the old folk song – do you remember? I used to sing it to you when you were a child. I always hoped that you would find that sort of happiness." Her mistress sounded so wistful when she said that, so desolate in her own love and marriage, as if hope had died for her a long time ago and was only something watched through the lives of her children – which Lily, despite being only nine years younger, was firmly counted as.

"I was told that if I were free, I would have been married to either of the Princes. The Crown Prince Anubis is still free. If I am commonly thought of as being the best candidate, then why not simply free me and make a marriage alliance to make peace." She forced the words out, attempting to sound nonchalant and careless. Lady Isis did not fall for it for one minute. She turned round on her stool as soon as the words had formed in the air, sending the slave girls flying into chaos around her. Lily stepped backwards, and flung her body onto the ground as a means of apology. The queen was livid, bristling, bursting with anger. "I only ask because it has been said to me-"

"Do you listen to every silly little rumour said to you? Is that air between your ears? You, you finish with my hair and then make ready my wig," Lady Isis pointed at a trembling servant, who took the razor from Lily's unresisting hand, "and Lily, you can take yourself out of my sight before I beat that vanity out of you and teach you a lesson in humility. That is the real problem here, isn't it? The problem is not that you don't love Remrem, or you're having doubts about how you would do as a wife. That noble blood in your veins is not an excuse for arrogance above your station. You would seek to be the equal of queens and princesses, but you are a slave, you will always be a slave, and you should learn to accept this. The gods have assigned you a place. Destiny has brought you to this place, it has favoured and succoured you from harm, and it has told you that your place is beside me, as my dearest companion. Now get out, and do not return to my presence until my anger has abated. Then you can beg for my forgiveness, and I might be tempted to give it. Go!"

The last word was matched with an ivory fan being flung at Lily's prostrate form. The handle spun through the air before striking her on the shoulder, leaving a livid red mark on her flesh. She sprung up, gave a short bow, before stalking out the room. She hadn't been this angry for a long time, not since the vow she had made when she was a child. The tempestuous emotions of childhood had faded, leaving nothing more than a residual bitterness that stung a little, like an old wound. That wound had opened now. It was open and raw, a split in her flesh that was bleeding, leaving her in agony.

The problem with anger was that it made you do things that were probably incredibly unwise. Oh, she knew that far too well. She could remember being nine years old, sat up all night clutching a jewelled dagger to her chest, and resolutely determined to run her father through with it. It had all been for naught of course; he had found her under his bed, and beaten her until she was more like a limp doll than a living child. What had she done after that? Sulked in her mistress's rooms, and decided to make a blood sacrifice to the Goddess. Not one of the goddesses of Kemet, but the ancient old Goddess of her mother's people, the wrathful creature that had made all from inside her and could destroy it if she so wished. She had taken a lock of hair from her head, and then slashed the underside of her thigh, in the way she had been told as a child. The hair had been rolled in the blood that had flowed sluggishly from the cut, and while repeating her plea over and over until she felt dizzy, before throwing the sticky mess into a brazier fire. That had been very stupid, because there was no means to take back an earnest plea to the Goddess.

Lily had wished for her father to die, horribly and painfully, along with all those wives and siblings, so that she could be free of him forever. Remrem had been able to do that for her without the necessity of their deaths before they had all vanished. It was something to do with the bridge of worlds collapsing, Lady Isis had tried to explain it, but she hadn't really understood. It was as if her prayers had been answered all of a sudden, the universe telling her to stop, desist, to turn back from the path she was taking and go onto something else… what it was, she did not know. Did she have to do something in return, repay the Goddess with a like for like? What would she want? She would spend the evening in seclusion and prayer, to wait for some sort of sign. If the Goddess had an especial mission or desire for her life, then it would let itself be known.

She spent the afternoon and the evening sat in the prow of the royal galley, head leant back against the warm wood. The boat had slowed, allowing a few other ships to sail alongside. There was a celebration this night, an end of the line banquet that was given so well in this country. With the nobility confined in sacrifice for the night, the servants had been given the run of things and were going a little wild. Flasks of beer and wine had been cracked open, and she could see where they had gathered on the main deck of the royal wives' galley, dancing in the fading light. She could hear singing, and music, and she itched to run over there to organise it properly. She could organise a festival or celebration in her sleep, and much better than the raucous mess that was going on. Lily sat out, wrapping her shawl over her head, silently waiting. She watched the stars rise above her head, mapping out their secret meanings and mysteries. She saw the flaring of the mortuary monuments, far out in the distance, and wondered whether she ought to get any dinner.

The answer presented itself, although it wasn't the answer she was expecting.


	11. Chapter 11

**This chapter has many problems; no matter how many times I rewrote it, it didn't turn out quite right. This is the best of my many, many drafts.**

* * *

The boat had been deserted for the night. It seemed to be the custom of these people – to drop whatever it was they were doing in pursuit of pleasure rather than reason. The nobility had sectioned themselves away, doing whatever ridiculous gestures passed for piety here, and the servants had reacted immediately with lechery and hard drinking. They were going to be fighting a decisive battle to determine the future of their two kingdoms, not that one could tell. Maybe it was a simple case of cultural dissonance or they really were that self-indulgent. As Loki stood on the deck, the one place at all on this awful ship where there was some semblance of a cool breeze, he was able to watch one of the guardsmen left behind vomit copiously over the side of the ship opposite, then wipe his mouth on the skirts of the pretty slave girl next to him, before slinging her wriggling form over one shoulder and lumbering off. It was repugnant, and he walked away in disgust. He found that one slave had been left behind. The slim figure of Lily was sat at the prow of the boat, her profile silhouetted by the moonlight.

"Not off to make merry with your countrymen then, honourable Wadjet?" He gave a slight inclination of his head, a courtesy he did not give her queen. She turned her head at this, piqued. It hadn't been difficult to set off her anger; it bubbled up underneath that flimsy exterior, just waiting to explode out of her if given the right push. With her anger, she would give him what he wanted, leaving him free to leave this realm for good. With the right amount of respect, she would never think that it came from him. She would think it had come from inside, some sudden realisation of a seemingly hidden truth.

"Why do you call me Wadjet? Call me Lily, that is what everyone does. Lily of the waters, that is who I am." Lily's voice was tired and low.

"Wadjet is your given name, isn't it? Hathor-" As he grew closer towards her, her face grew clearer, and her brow knotted at mention of the princess, before she sighed, rolling her eyes massively. "-was telling everyone how you got the nickname Lily, and it seemed a bit childish. A woman about to be married, named after a ridiculous accident at the river side? Who would want to be constantly reminded of some childish mistake?"

There was enough light to see that Lily's cheeks flushed slightly, as she huffed and pulled her shawl around her chest. "What is it that you want? Because you are sniffing around me as if I were a dog in heat, and it would go better for you if you were straightforward with it. You're trying to make me do something."

"I assure you, that I am just trying to find a friendly face-"

"Oh, _please_." She snorted loudly, looking up at him from her seat on the floor. "Men have been trying to manipulate me since my first red moon. Men seem to think that I am feeble-minded or just blind to not tell what's going on. I'll be more amenable to what you want from me if you treat me as if I am worthy of your respect. Tell me what it is that you want, and I shall give you my best service."

"I want to go to the Bifrost site, which is situated on your lands, so that I can get out of this claustrophobic realm."

"You do not wish to return to your home? Seeing as you see us with such low regard I should imagine it to be some blessed place compared to this dusty land."

"No. That way is dead to me now."

"I am sorry to hear that but there is no way for me to help you. There isn't a single thing I could do to stop your fate." Lily spread her hands in an apologetic manner. "My mistress has forbidden anyone helping you travel to the site, lest you risk her disapproval, which can be unpleasant to experience."

"My fate?"

"Lady Isis has other plans for you. She means for you to never make it to the site. You will help her conjure up an elemental khamsin and then… " She broke off, pausing to stand up. Her whole manner and attitude had changed entirely. The deference was gone. How many times had he pushed her for information, only to have her walk away and refuse to say anything? She was talkative in comparison, although she refused to look at him, staring far off across the still black waters.

"What is a khamsin? What kind of magic is it?" Loki pressed on.

"Oh, a khamsin is a sand storm. It is the rage of the gods and it consumes all that it comes across, man, beast or building. What is it like in your country?" The question caught him by surprise, made him pause for a second. It was such an odd flicker of interest. "I have heard that there are lands out there where the ground is covered with plants, or where there are no deserts, or where the rivers turn to white stone for some of the year. Is that what your country is like?"

He ignored the question. "What does Isis have planned for me? I know that there is something being planned, and that you know what is going to happen. You want to tell me. You want to help. You are kind to me, a stranger in a strange land. Help this poor, pitiful stranger." The words came from pure instinct, a desperation to escape. He had a feeling of an animal being lured into a trap, one closing so slowly as to not disturb the prey. Lily was the key to breaking free; it was her land the bridge connected to, her closeness to the queen that could be manipulated. He came to her side, grabbing her arm and pulling her close, shaking her. She was limp, her head rolling on her shoulders, eyes large and wide.

"I am just a slave. The gods have forsaken us both. We are both dead, dead in mind and dead in soul. I am damned to the Devourer a hundred times over and it does not matter what I do. I am cast aside by my mistress. It is the will of the Goddess. She killed my father to punish me. There is nothing that I can do." She babbled on and on, her mask of control fallen and shattered. She tried to pull away from him pathetically, her voice falling to a dull moan. "Leave me alone. You say so many words! Words, words, words, I am sick and tired of words."

"How am I dead? Your mistress isn't very good with subtlety, I knew she was plotting something. Will you really let me die?" He gripped her arm tighter, his hand biting into the flesh. She moaned again, trying to push him away ineffectually with the heel of her palm.

"I didn't want any part of this! She said that I had to put you at ease, and that if you were quiet and dumb things would move much easier. Lady Isis said that you were an accursed liar, and would damn the two kingdoms with your isfet. She said that your coming was foretold, that the isfet your presence would cause cracked the bridge between the worlds and made it fall. It killed the land and spread the seeds of discord. I didn't understand how one pampered prince could do all this but I did what I was told. I kept you happy and stopped you asking questions. I didn't want to answer questions anyway." She made another half-hearted attempt to pull her arm free but she had no energy for distress. She stopped shortly, swaying a little on her feet. "My arm is going numb. I want to go to sleep. Please let me go."

"I am not going to let me go until you tell me what I want to know. You will feel," The constant calls to the gods for help in her situation, the talk of a lack of grief, the fate and destinies wrought upon mortal men for interference in divine matters; Loki should have noticed it before. It was inspired. A stroke of pure genius. He reached out to her face, one hand curtaining the plump curves. She shied away from his touch, her eyes rolling massively in their sockets. He stroked the skin a little, fingers on the coarseness of her hair. "Absolved." He whispered, and she shuddered, the tension in her body relaxed instantly. "Whatever wrong you have done will be made right if you help me. Be free in yourself. You need owe no allegiance to your mistress."

"Are you a god? Sent to live amongst mortal men?" Lily looked sceptical for a moment then nodded slowly. "I have heard of such things. It would explain why you look like a shade from the underworld. I will willingly give myself in service to the will of the gods. I am nothing, and only fit for servitude." The sudden switch to compliance was almost convincing. There was no quaver, no hesitation, but the impromptu change of loyalty was circumspect. She licked her bottom lip slowly, pink against the darkness of her skin, pliant and quiet.

"I want you to-" Loki began, but Lily made her move. Hissing like a wild animal, she reared her head back and spat into his face. She threw herself backwards against his grip while he was stunned and distracted, freeing herself, and started to run. If she had screamed, she would have gotten away. A woman's scream would have brought the royal guards running, no matter what state they were in, and he would have been run through right then and there, left to die under the black skies. She remained silent, letting no one know where she was or the danger she was in. He lashed out, snapping a hand around her thin wrist and with one swift movement, pulled her back to him. Her feet scrabbled on the deck, unable to get a purchase to pull away. She slammed into him, pinned, one arm twisted against the small of her back and held in his grip. His other hand wove itself around her neck, nails digging into the soft flesh. Still, she did not scream. Her pulse raced in the thin skin at the base of her throat, swift and fast like the beating heart of a terrified animal.

"How am I supposed to trust you when you try and run to your mistress after promising to help me? You are the only one who I have trusted in this entire realm, the only one who offered me any kindness. And yet, here you are, trying to run away when I can save you." He whispered, his mouth close to her ear, breathing down her flesh, her hair twisted in her face. She tried to pull herself, but gasped as he squeezed tighter on her arm.

"You're a lying snake. My mistress warned me. She said your heart was black and full of sin and that you deserved the death that is coming to you. She will split your heart and bleed you dry." Lily spat out the words with a grim relish. "To think I spoke up for you! To think that I valued what you told me! I will be glad when you are dead, and it will not weigh down my heart with sin as it shall be well deserved."

"Isis means to kill me? For what purpose? What can she possibly hope to gain from my death? Tell me, or I swear I shall break you here and now, and cast your body into the river to be eaten by the beasts." He pushed her thumb deeper into her throat, feeling the throbbing of her breath, the passing of her life under his fingertips.

"Take the life of one prince to save another. The magic required to summon an elemental sandstorm will exhaust you. A little sip of the red flower and you will be unconscious. Helpless. Your throat will be slit, and your life shall flow out of you like wine, only to pour into the distant form of the Crown Prince Horus. What does the life of one stranger matter in the grand scheme of things? The Prince shall unite the two kingdoms, and balance shall be restored. The gods will smile on us again." Lily forced out a cracked laugh. "You think I fear you. I'm not afraid of you. If you kill me, you gain nothing and I gain eternal happiness. Let me go."

"So you can run to the side of your mistress? The mistress who loves and cares for you as if you were one of her own? Who respects your wishes and desires?" He made his voice low, almost comforting, his lips as close to the warm flush of her cheek. She froze in her continued struggles immediately.

"My Lady has brought me up since my girlhood. You have no right to speak of her to me. Let go of me this instant." She said in a forced, monotonous tone. Things had developed then. She had been sat by herself, away from the rest of the slaves who would have welcomed her with open arms, and not locked away with the nobility to be at the side of her beloved queen. It had been easy. The doubts in herself and those around her already existed, that was clear to see, so it had been nothing to play upon them. The gentlest touch had been enough to elicit an almost immediate reaction from her. She was deeply conflicted then, to be so susceptible to the influence of a stranger.

"If you wanted me to let you go, you could have had the guards here as soon as I touched you. You want to help me. You speak of the gods; why not consider this to be a sign from the gods, telling you that this is right, this is what is expected for you? Your world has been turned upside down in such a short space of time. Everything you could desire has happened; your father dead, leaving you everything you were denied as a child. Your country is on the brink of being united, and health, wealth and happiness is sure to follow. Why not let yourself be happy? I can give you happiness if you help me." The thrill of conniving, weaving a person underneath a spell of words, talking them into giving away their will and to trick them into thinking they were being independent and intelligent!

"Why should I listen to you? Your actions are hardly that of a civilised man. Why should I turn my back on what I know to help you get what you want?"

"For a start, I don't want to die, and you don't want that on your conscience – you led me along, like a farm-girl bringing an animal to slaughter. You knew what would happen to me. I can forgive that, if you'll take me to your estates, and show me to where the Bifrost bridge connects to your world. I can't get there by myself. If my life is needed by your queen, I don't think she'll let me slip through her fingers. I'm trapped, without your help." He unclasped the hold on her neck, letting Lily slump forwards gasping for breath, rubbing her neck.

"Threatening me does not make me willing to be your accomplice." Her voice was hoarse, the words painful. There was still a little fight in her, as she spun on her heel and quick as a flash, raised her hand to strike him across the face. Loki caught her wrist easily, so that now both her arms were held fast by him. She tried in vain anew to pull her arms free, sandaled feet trying to stomp on his. "You are a beast and a monster! If my mistress were here-"

"Then what? What would she do? She wouldn't hurt me, and she wouldn't defend you." Loki said simply, dropping his anger and his determination. He tried to appear as conciliatory as possible, as if he were an ally. He needed to escape and Lily was the perfect means. She had the social status and graces to scurry him away. "She has thrown you away to a man not worthy of you-"

"Remrem loves me!" Lily fired back, looking as if she would spit in his face again.

"-She lets you marry him to protect herself. You are a rival. I can see it, and I have lived here for a week. You are popular. The persons of this court talk nothing but of you, and how they would prefer you for a princess. There is a civil war, and all they talk of is one slave – one noblewoman, if she would free you like she ought."

"I don't want to be a free woman, I am happy with my place. You are twisting my thoughts! You have been at my side, whispering these evil things, for what purpose? If you want to go, then go! You won't leave anyway; the Bifrost site is dead, there is no life there! Why do you persist in torturing me? Maybe you were sent by the gods, some demon to torment me because of what I desired?" Her voice raised higher and higher, as she was starting to turn hysterical. "You have come here to trick us all! I don't – I can't – I can't think any more, I don't know what to do, why won't you leave me alone?" She sank slowly to the ground, head bowed to her chest. Her arms were still held by him, so she hung ridiculously from his hands, splayed like an icon to one of her animalistic gods. He was unsure what to do next. She was close to denying her old allegiance and aiding him, but she was distressed. If he pushed too hard, she would break and shatter, leaving her unusable.

He released his hold on her wrists, so she slithered to the stained wooden decking. She gave what sounded like a muffled sob, drawing her knees to her chest, rubbing her wrists with her fingers. Loki sat next to her, and she did not try to push him away or to shout for help. She sniffed, eyeing him warily, biting down on her lip hard until the skin blanched white.

"If you did not see sense in my words, you would have ran the instant I released you." Loki spoke gently, as if he were trying to coax a horse to come to him in dire distress. He would appear to be warm and affectionate, a soothing balm to the stress of this situation. He had to be upriver soon, before his blood dripped across temple floors. She swallowed, her large eyes never leaving him.

"I wanted to help you. I pitied you. You were the mockery of us all but I thought that perhaps it was some sort of divine miracle." Her body shook, but she forced her voice to be steady. She was the kind of person who refused to acknowledge fear. "I was there when you were found, and I felt such anguish for you that I felt my heart ache in sympathy. Now you have beshat our generosity with violence, and still you ask for more."

He reached out to hold her hand. She flinched away from him predictably, but he held his hand on hers. A gesture of humility on his part. "I had no other choice! I-" He made himself break away, as if from some deep inner pain. "I did not choose to come here! I landed here, an unknown in an unknown country, and thought that the one who understood me would-" He stopped again, leaving enough of a pause for Lily to prick up and fill the gap.

"Understand you? How so?"

"My fa- I mean, your father, they're –" He made the words sound forced, as if he were trying to rush them out. As if the situation she had lived through was somehow equitable to his; him, the monster feared at night, the monster rejected, compared to a girl whose only problem was that she had been given to a loving cousin and been left a great fortune at the death of her father. It was the right note to play. Comprehension lit in her eyes. She brushed the hair from her face and sat up, as if she were looking at him for the very first time. She touched her fingertips to the inside of her thigh, unconsciously, and then clasped her hands together reverently. Her eyes glittered with some kind of strange intensity, her feelings of panic suddenly gone.

"It is the work of the Goddess." It was a simple statement of an utter determination. The doubt and suspicion had drained from her, and she looked at him with the same reverent attitude she showed to her queen. It is always easier to manipulate a strong-willed person to your will than any other, and she would be useful. The slavish devotion Lily had to her queen was a desirable trait in a servant. "This was always meant to happen. Ach! I did not know I lacked a purpose – I was blinded by the anger I held for my father. We are the same! The Goddess has brought me to you, so I can help you in your suffering. Through bringing you here, to this country, she engineered the death of my father I so long begged for. In payment, she will demand a similar bloodprice from me – to help you. But oh!" She shook her head sadly, her earrings catching the limited light and sending prisms of golden colour across the stained wood of the deck. "The gods think I can help you revive what is dead and gone, but I don't have that power. I have the skills of a slave, not an adept of the magical arts. I am sorry, I cannot help." She dropped her forehead to the deck, prostrating herself in front of him.

"Your queen is an adept of the magical arts. Has she not deigned to teach you anything?" Loki did not give her permission to straighten herself or face him. This was, after all, the custom of her people, and she needed a lesson in humility. There was a chance this was all a great act, and she would simply call for the guards, thwarting everything. She needed to learn the value of obedience.

"She cannot allow any of her maids to witness her magic. We are forbidden from knowing where the five words of power lie." Came Lily's muffled reply.

"The five words of power; these would give Isis her magical gifts then? It's not a natural skill, but one gained through using these objects? There is no other closer to your mistress than yourself, so you would be able to find them for me. You have some idea where they are, know some secret, some rumour surrounding your mistress. Wadjet," he came towards her now, placed a hand on her should to make her raise her head. He cupped her jaw, and it was with some pleasure that he noticed she did not shrink away. Or try to spit in his face again. "If you truly believe that you were chosen by your Goddess to help me – yes, yes, I'm sure she's always been a guiding presence in your life – then you must betray your mistress to serve me. Can I even trust you? Will you really turn tail on the woman who raised you, for a man who has lied to you?"

"How else did you come here, if not by some manifest destiny? I will give whatever is needed in order to repay the gods for their kindness to me. I … if I am called to betray my mistress," she gave an involuntary shudder, "then it is to help someone who needs me. You need me more than she does, and I will pledge you my full loyalty."

"The same loyalty you give your cousin?"

Lily raised an eyebrow, something akin to her old, familiar haughtiness. "Because of you, my father was sent to his second death. I would give you anything you wanted. You just had to ask in the right way. None of this ridiculous male posturing, or godly aspirations, or hurting me." She gave a slight giggle, flashing an impish grin. "Well, at least without asking me first."


	12. Chapter 12

Lily did not believe what had happened the previous night. The memory made her breath catch in her chest. She was exhausted, tired to her bones like an old woman, and her head spun. She had sat out on the deck for… she didn't know how many hours; they had begun to blur into one after a while. She had been lost in thought, meditating, begging for an answer to the desperate, insistent thoughts in her head. She had one now, although she wasn't sure whether it was truly the will of the Goddess of her mother, or dehydration. She did know that she felt peaceful now. She had a purpose. She had been chosen to be a great woman. She had grown up watching Isis (she did not see the need to call her 'lady' – they were of equal enough rank, were they not?) at the side-lines of power, stood in the shadows, the silent but influential helper. Was that not the role she was born into? Was that not the life she had been trained for? Lily had been treated as the exact equal of her cousin, the Prince Horus, throughout their childhoods; there was a short gap of four years between them, and they had spent all their time together. They had had the same lessons, the same friendship circle, the same deferential treatment. The only difference was that Lily was required to wait upon Isis, and that did not intrude very much, aside from helping at the occasional bath or birth.

That had changed when the Prince Horus had married the bastard princess Hathor. It was a particularly poor match. Hathor's family were well connected, well known and well-off, but had been tainted by the pervasive attitude of degeneracy that had been flourishing in the two kingdoms since the end of the last civil war. Her mother was infamous for her numerous affairs, being barred entry to most social circles. Her children were social pariahs, believed by most to be illegitimate children palmed off on her oblivious husband, who wore his horns with good grace. No one could have foreseen it, not even Lily, the confidant of Isis. It had come from nowhere. One day, the east wing of the palace was cleared and cleaned. The next, there was a retinue of women installed, with the girlish Hathor at their head. Lily had instantly disliked her. There was a quality that followed the girl, an irritating quality that bore under the skin. She was, at best, vapid and stupid. At worst, she was a rival. She usurped her own privileged place at the court, drawing attention to Lily's own slave status, and she would always resent the princess for that.

Lily was from a very ancient line of powerful women, women who were bred and trained to live in the highest courts, and to push their men to be the best they could be. She could never be content to be a humble slave. The intense craving for power was deep in her bones - it would be impossible to ignore it. Remrem had held power only while he was the solution to the unpleasant situation with her father. Now her father was dead, then what was the point of him? He would never be an ambitious man. He would be happy to spend the rest of his life in obscurity, out on a farm in the middle of nowhere, where she turned fat and dull, popping out child after child after child. Lily still loved him, she truly always would. But she had no desire to settle down with him right now. Prince Loki (she did not even dare to call him by his informal title, even in her head) was an immensely powerful man, there was no denying it. Lily was a survivor, and unconsciously attached herself to those who could best protect her. There was something in him that was uncontrollable, overwhelming and… dominant.

Ah yes. That part of it. Lily looked around her guiltily. She had been denied her couch at the foot of Isis's bed, and been forced to sleep elsewhere. She had been resigned to the slave's quarters, where Esho had permitted her to share her own sleeping mat. The figure of the slave was asleep next to her, curled up into a ball, while the room was crowded with the bare skin of a hundred sleeping figures. She did not want to admit this to anyone, and thought that if someone were to look her in the face, right this very instant, they would see the cringing thoughts inside her mind.

There was a potentiality for corruption inside her that frightened and enthralled her. When the prince had grabbed her, she had not been afraid. She'd thought he was insane, driven out of his mind; how could a prince of Asgard be a god? It was the Pharaohs of Kemet who had been instilled with the divine power of the gods, a gift for coming to these blessed lands. No, instead it had been… exciting. Yes, that was an appropriate word. It had sent a thrill through her, quite unlike anything else before or since. She had not called for the guards because she found herself wanting to listen, to hear, and as it came to be, to be called important. To be desired by someone, who followed the desires of the gods. It was all muddled inside her head, she could not begin to make sense of it, all she knew was that she wanted to experience this more. It was exhilarating. And she wanted it to happen again, as little sense as that made! She kept replaying everything over and over in her head, unable to really tell whether it had truly happened, or it had been a figment of her (apparently decidedly) unusual imagination.

"Pass me the waterskin." Esho said, with the extra loud pronunciation of someone who has had to repeat themselves. Lily shook her head, trying to shake some sense into herself. She was on the boat of the royal wives, surrounded by the vain and self-aggrandising creatures. They were pitiful in their own particular way. How desperately they fought amongst each other for the any meagre scrap of affection from their royal husband! How deep and pernicious the intrigues and scandal ran, when there was so little to occupy the time. They spent their lives trying to better each other in comparison to the others, and to best push forwards their own children – even though the vast brood of royal brats had a slim chance of any power at court, seeing as the king had a choice of three very eligible and well-bred heirs. The women, perhaps to lessen their own fears, were treating this situation as if it were just a typical river outing, and were trying to make a pleasant and relaxed atmosphere. She looked at the lute in her hands. She had been playing some song but couldn't remember what it had been. It was completely wiped from her mind. How had she even gotten here?

She remembered falling into a fitful sleep, where she had been plagued by dreams of birds – a most potent omen. She had been violently shaken awake by Esho and they had taken places in the papyrus rafts leaving the main ships. The small body of the army had already left, and the women would be retiring to the Temple of Ptah. Lily could see it now, in the distance, a vast complex of shining white marble against the yellow shifting sands. The smoke from a hundred cooking fires turned the clear blue sky a dull, unpleasant grey, and the fumes from unwashed bodies, filth, and unchecked animals were beginning to flow towards the shoal of vessels on the swollen body of the river. Several of the women covered their noses with perfumed napkins to hide the smell. Lily shifted her weight slightly, stretching out her legs in front of her to try and alleviate her tiredness. She had been denied her usual place next to Isis – she had not even been sent for! – and she could see the royal boat several leagues ahead. She tried to crane her neck, to get a better view at what would be happening. She could see it in her mind's eye; Isis, being flirtatious and vivacious, showering the prince with compliments, dazzling enough to blind any man. His waterskin would be spiked with a powder made from the mysterious red flower. Its seed came from some Asiatic land to the far east, brought by brave pedlars in small quantities to keep it expensive. Isis had long maintained a crop of these strange flowers, which gave off a strange milky liquid that when dried and properly prepared, had the ability to give vivid dreams, remove pain, or cause a sleep so deep the subject appeared almost dead. It would leave him powerless to prevent anything that would happen, dulled into a near stupor. Vulnerable and defenceless.

"Lily! Can you not hear her?" One of the other wives called out across the boat, her voice as sharp as a whip crack. Another one of them giggled brightly.

"If you ask me, she looks tired from _country matters_. No doubt Remrem enjoyed the freedom of last night's festivities, to spend time with the bride to be!" This was greeted with knowing cackles from the rest of the women and confused looks from the children. Lily cast her eyes, trying to look demure but amused.

"I have no doubt that he did," Esho started, reaching over to grab the waterskin for herself, and then lowered her voice to continue, "but it certainly was not with you, as I spent the early hours of the morning putting him to bed for you. And then you come into the slave quarters dishevelled and upset, so you had better tell me what happened last night before others start to ask questions."

Trust Esho to be her typical blunt self. She had an expression of deep dislike on her face, with perhaps a touch of hurt. She was close to Remrem, closer than to any other living creature. She did not make friends or allies easily. "I need to talk to you. I need your advice." Lily bent over, beckoning the dark skinned girl to do the same. Lily's hair hung down across both their faces, giving a hasty but effective cover for their talk. "I have been asked to go into service with another master."

Esho gave a cursory shrug, as if to indicate the futility of switching masters. It was something well known to her. "Have they got the gold to pay off the queen?" She would immediately think of her slave price – it was the practical line of thought. Even though Lily was poised to inherit a vast fortune, the value of a servant such as Lily would beggar all but the wealthiest and most determined of purchasers. The last time she had checked with the slave overseer, the floating price was roughly ten thousand gold rings, or for the more workaday lord, roughly ten herds of pedigree cattle or a river adjacent estate. She was valuable property. In comparison, a house slave like Esho was worth a healthy cow, or on a tough market day, a finely woven rug. They were not in the same league.

"Oh, no, it's not about that. Isis is not in negotiations to sell me. I'm not being thrust upon the open market."

"Then what is this talk? They are a foolish man indeed to be haggling for one so highly prized. Why not wait a few months? When you are married to Remrem and with child, then your price will drop and it will be more affordable. Although it shall not matter then. You will be a noblewoman with many lands and servants at your disposal. Then you will be able to negotiate with the steward and the overseer for my purchase, so you can have an old friend with you." Esho's eyes narrowed. "It is the monster from across the stars. He has asked for you to be his servant. Only one ignorant of these things would be so stupid. Why does he do this? Does he desire you? There are a hundred, a thousand other servant women here if he wants a whore. He should not be sniffing around your skirts. I would not allow it if it were I, royal prince or no."

Lily cursed violently in her head. She should have known that Esho would immediately jump to entirely the wrong conclusion about the situation; a tough life and harsh masters had taught her to be cynical in such matters around men, and her naturally fiery temper made her jump to an immediate offence, no matter what the circumstances. "No, no, it is nothing like that-"

"It is disgraceful, that is what it is! How dare he! How dare he!" Esho was working herself into a furious rage, bristling and twitching, her voice getting louder and louder. Lily reached out to hold her shoulder, desperate to keep attention away from them.

"He wants me for a companion and maid, that is all. There is nothing for you to worry about, and nothing for Remrem to worry about. He says that he needs my help, that only I can help him. I am-" she hesitated, unsure how to end that sentence. Esho did not know what Isis was planning, and did not need to know. She was running a great risk even telling her this much. Her friend might turn around and scream what was happening, to have Lily dragged away by the overseer and flogged for all to see. Unruly slaves were detested; their comeuppance was a high form of entertainment. "I have made the choice to be his slave. I am going to run away from the court."

"Run away?" Esho blinked, as if she had never heard of such a thing. "Whatever for? What will you get from running away with a demon man that you do not get here? You are noble blood and soon to be noble place. You are the luckiest woman alive. You have the love of a queen and a good man. Are sly smiles enough to take away your knowledge of this?"

"It is my destiny. I feel it in my heart and in my soul. I feel that … oh! I cannot describe it even to myself. It is stupid and foolish. I just know that to be a wife, sat away in some country estate, is not what was intended for me. I was intended for great things, and to help Prince… Loki with them. I am a good slave, and there is a chance for me to do great things. Better than here!" She waved a hand dismissively at the clucking figures of the royal wives, preening under their sunshades. "To be wasted here, to play silly love songs and to weave braids from flowers! What kind of life is that for anyone?"

"It used to be the life you wanted." Esho sniffed, calmed. She looked at Lily with some repugnance, as if she were a disgusting creature made of an unidentifiable, stinking substance. "It sounds to me like you have already decided what is best for you. I hardly see why you asked me for advice. Gods grant you luck and may you live forever." She added, in a tone as cold and sharp as bronze. She pulled herself away, as if to be near Lily was somehow infectious and dangerous, and did not speak to her for the rest of the journey.

She spent the rest of the day alone, apart from the court and her usual menagerie of companions. There was something peaceful in the unusual state of being alone. She was used to being surrounded by a glittering crowd of people, all demanding each their pound of flesh from her, so much so that she always felt empty and hollow when she fell into her couch at night. The temple was a beautiful and grand place, and she walked the many vast corridors, drinking in the murals and the accounts of great kings and their queens. She was of their blood. She had paid her dues. She deserved to be amongst them, to have her image immortalised with the best of them. They had held small dreams, of king and country and the river valley; she could see herself out past the confines of the two kingdoms, out past the stars and the moons to worlds where the gods light did not fall, to places no one in either of the kingdoms had ever seen or imagined. To be free in a place where she was not known, where nothing was expected of her at all… the thought made her shiver a little.

In truth, she was not walking about to admire the art work. She was avoiding the inevitable confrontation with Remrem. Lily needed his help for tonight, but knew that he would have his reservations. He would question everything in his direct manner, and he had the unashamed ability to talk her into telling him everything – something she did not want to do at all. There were things he really did not need to know. They would hurt him. She could imagine in clearly in her mind's eye; he would say nothing, his face would stay the same, but his eyes would drop to the floor and his shoulders droop. It was a clear sign he was deeply upset, and she would only want to throw her arms around him, give up everything if it would make him feel better. She couldn't do that, she had to remain strong. She hid away, lost in the winding maze of columns and dazzling pictures and brazier smoke, until the sun began its long descent into the mouth of the sky goddess and she knew she could wait no more.

The steward's tent was outside the temple, but within the walls of the compound. Only those of noble birth and connection could step on hallowed ground normally, but in these days of war and trouble the usual rules were temporarily suspended. Well, the rules were bent only so far; none of the servants were allowed in the temple buildings themselves, although they were free to enjoy the fragrant gardens (most of which had been hurriedly dug up for vegetable plots in recent weeks) and the marble fountains, that sent streams of sparkling water into cool blue pools. Remem was roomed next to his master. His standing had risen rapidly; he was a capable and reliable man, and of course, his close connection to the queen did him no harm. The tent was woven from rushes, thin and fine enough to hold water, with green silk trimmings, clearly displaying his loyalties to the world. He was an Osiris man through and through. There were no others around – most would be seeing to the preparations for the wounded army Lady Sekhmet had been – and Lily strode inside. It had been rather richly furnished, she noted; his star was rising higher than she had thought. He had even been given a proper wooden bed, with a wooden stool and table to match. Remrem was laid upon it, looking exceptionally sorry for himself. He had evidently drunk much the night before, his skin pasty, and glowing with sweat. He looked at her, groaned massively, and tried to pull himself up. Lily came across the tent, delicately stepping around the rather dubious looking stains on the rugs, and sat next to him, pushing him back down on the bed.

"You're burning up." She laid the back of her hand against his forehead, trying to judge how ill he was from drink. He had a slight temperature and he gave a contented sigh from the coolness of her skin.

"If I am, it's from love for you." His eyes were slightly crossed, and his words slurred.

"Don't be so ridiculous. Your water jug is empty; no wonder you are talking such nonsense." Lily made him drink three jugs of water, watching him like a hawk to make sure each droplet went down his throat. He would have sweated most of the wine from his body, but she wanted to wash the dregs out of his system before tonight. His dull eyes became brighter, and he shook his head doggedly.

"This will not do when we are married. Men who drink too much in the delta get carried away by river fevers that boil the flesh from their bones while they live." She sounded over harsh, she knew, but it was to compensate for the fear. Her heart fluttered about like a distressed bird in her chest.

Remrem gave a lazy smile, slinging an arm about her neck and pecking her cheek with dry lips. "Ah, you would be a bossy little wife! I will be soundly mocked from the seven sisters to the Elephantine cataracts. They will call me the man who was a wife, and my name will go down in legend – the first man to bear children while his wife rode away to war!" His tone was light, his eyes playful. He was perfectly content to let her be the dominant partner, happy to sit back and let her rant and rage and fight for them. This meant two things to Lily; it was why she loved him, for his peaceful attitude, and it was why she did not respect him. He was too complacent for what she needed.

"It is too true, in these uncertain days." She said, and his brow furrowed.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, his voice low and thick with worry.

"I have taken on a dangerous duty, and I need your help. Oh, by the gods above, if you don't help me, everything is lost."

"My heart, what has happened? What has been asked of you?" Remrem lost his normal stoic composure, as his face darkened like thunder. "If any man has dared to lay a hand on you-"

Lily put a hand against his chest, willing him to calm down and to halt that line of thought. Remrem was only rarely angry, certainly in comparison with her childish tantrums of temper that she was prone to in times of stress, but it was not a force she wanted to awake. He would be a man unstoppable and seeing as he was unconsciously correct in what he said… he would tear apart the Prince Loki with his bare hands, no doubt with the support of the men of the court. He had a duty to protect the honour of his woman and to remove the threat of a cuckhold's horns. Remrem was a strong and honourable man, and if he was goaded into anger, there would be little she could do. All her plans would be dashed – along with the Prince's skull on the flagstones of the temple. She took Remrem's hand and stroked it gently. The knuckles were swollen and cracked through use, the fingers and palms littered with calluses from years of hard labour. It was a strong hand, pitted and scarred and muscled. She never wanted to see them raised in violence. "It's not like that. Um… it's hard to explain…" She nipped at her lip, different words and phrases flowing to the tip of her tongue, none of them seeming appropriate or right. "I've been asked to serve a would-be king from outside this kingdom, and I am going to do this because I think it's a sign from the gods that I have a destiny beyond just being a slave, so I am going to claim my birth right. I have been chosen above all else. I have to escape with him from the palace this evening before Isis spills his lifeblood to restore life-force to the Prince Horus, but I have to find the five words of power so we can open a rainbow bridge to other worlds, so I need you to watch out by the priest's partition and help him get to a chariot and a boat so we can travel to my father's – my – estate. I have chosen to be his slave, so that I may be free from here, free from the influence of this pernicious queen, and to explore beyond what little is here." She spoke as quickly as possible, the words crashing into each other, until they were all out and she was panting, slightly breathless.

Remrem did not say anything for a long time. He stared at her, and at his hands held in hers, and then at the floor. Finally, he asked, "Why do you believe this?"

"I don't know… it makes sense to me, somehow. I feel that some force, some divine force, has dragged our paths together."

"This would-be king." He sounded distant and neutral. Impossible to read.

"I prayed for my father to die, then poof! The hog is gone, along with all his foul hoglets. The prince made the bridge collapse, made it all happen. He was hurt and in pain – a sight that I know full well! He needs my help, he has chosen me for this, and when he asked, I could feel the influence of the goddess pressing down on me. I surrendered to it, would you ask anything else of me? We are all pawns in the games of the gods, and we must submit to their wishes." She sighed. "My entire mind and body felt like it were struck by lightning and everything made sense to me. My eyes were opened to the corruption around me."

The strike had felt like worship in her girlhood. The first time you take part in a festival or a sacrifice; when the incense smoke is thick and lies heavy in the air, swirling around you, intoxicating you with scent and sting your eyes into blindness. The music was as a heartbeat, beating in time with your own body, flowing through the body and out through stamping your feet in time, so the dance felt as if it were a part of the pumping of life through your veins. The sistrums shook with the drumbeat, so caught up you were in frantic movement, that you felt you could never stop, that you were a conduit for the music and the majesty of the gods. Drunk on music and scent, the heavy weight of the wigs and the gold jewellery was nothing; you felt that you could stretch out your arms and fly up into the arms of the gods themselves. The other women cried and sang out, pulling at their hair, scratching at their faces and chests. There would be the heady perfume of lilies, everywhere, their fertile heads draped over the women, hanging between their breasts. And then the statue of the god would be brought out, terrifying and magnanimous in the torchlight. The eyes, painted blank, would flicker and move in the flames, and she would scream over and over, her voice lost in the rising noise from everyone else.

Fear and awe. That was what she felt.

Remrem shook his head, as if he were still drunk. "This is craziness. What corruption are you talking about? Why do you insult the queen so?"

"She has held me back for her own purpose." Lily's lip curled back in a sneer. "She fears me. If she had the guts to free me, I'd own a sixth of the kingdom. I'm popular, I'm well loved. I could be a thorn in her side, if I was so inclined. The council was begging her to marry me to the Crown Prince! She has refused to free me, so that I'll be stuck here. Married to a nobody, unable to be anything to anyone." Her voice was bitter, and she was unable to hold back what she truly thought. The words only registered after they were out. She clapped a hand to her mouth, as if she could cram the words back down her throat.

"Would you rather be married to the Crown Prince then? Rather than married to a nothing like me?" Remrem pulled away abruptly, snatching his hands away from hers.

"No, no-" she started, trying to grab at him, but he pushed her roughly away, standing up as if he would run and leave.

"There was me thinking that it was a miracle that you were able to be loved by everyone, yet you chose me over everyone else, above the scorn of your peers, you, you, you chose to have a poor life over anything else! Why are you saying this to me? What has poisoned your mind? Who is this would-be king you speak of? That, that, abomination that fell from the sky? Why would he need you?" He flushed slightly, swaying on his feet. The words stung Lily, and she twitched, slighted and irritated.

"Why would he need me? Because he asks for me. Here, here is a man sent by the gods and he asks for my help so I gave it willingly! What else should I do? Would you have me spit in the face of the gods and deny their will? I can hear their voice, and sense their will! They are saying, 'Wadjet, you have a great service you owe us, we are asking that you repay us', and I will do what is asked of me!" She felt like flying out at him, at shaking sense into him and making her see the truth in her words, but she changed her tone and body language. She took on a more coaxing tone, a more seductive ring in her words, and she crept towards him, laying her head and her hands upon his chest. "This is the truth of the matter. I am your wife and I would not lie to you. I – I just feel that this is something I must do."

"To run away in the middle of the night with another man?" Remrem was sharp, his tongue almost dripping vile acid, but she could tell that he was calmer. Unhappy, but calmer. He would give her anything she wanted, and he was a religious man. He understood that the whims of the gods were beyond a mortal's reckoning. Their ways were mysterious and incomprehensible, their desires leaking through into the mind at night when the borders between the mortal and the divine dissolved. If she felt in her heart the soaring of a god's will what could she do? And if she felt thrilled at the prospect to leave this claustrophobic and fetid kingdom… well. It could only be a good thing.

"It's not like that," she whispered, pressing her face into the warmth of his skin, "he is going to be a god-king, and he will reward me in ways we cannot imagine. We are blessed, can't you see that? I will be gone, yes, but I will come back. Ready to be by your side for the rest of my life and into the eternal fields."

"We serve one god-king already," Remrem pointed out. "why do you have need of another?" He sighed, and placed a finger under her chin, drawing her up to face him.

"She does not need me. She cast me out." He was coming round unwillingly. He would never be a supporter of the Prince, but he would do whatever she asked of him. He always would. "Please help me Rem. I'll never ask another thing of you again, I swear. I swear on the love between the sky goddess and the earth god."

"That's a lot of love to swear on. I guess I'll have to help you out now. What do you need me to do?" Remrem sounded resigned and tired, but had caved as she knew he would. She reached up to give him a kiss with dry lips.

"I need you to wait outside the priest's sanctuary for the Prince, and then to take him to the stables. We shall need a chariot to take us away, although I don't know how I'll take it on the ferry. I have to steal something from the queen's rooms, and I shall meet you there. You, you have no idea what this means to me. We shall be blessed, the both of us, can't you see?" She smiled up at him. The anger that had been held in her heart as a secret hidden ember had been blown into a bright and burning flame, which flickered through her body in a kind of fierce joy. The dull plodding of her life was to be no more. She had been chosen, she had a purpose. She would not be the forgotten girl, content to sit on the side lines and idle herself away in gossip and meaningless trivia. It was a desire she hadn't wanted before, but now she could think of nothing else. Lily clutched at Remrem, her eyes blind to the bitterness etched in the lines of his face.


	13. Chapter 13

The temple was like a paradise, looming out of the thick yellow sands. The heat was almost unbearable; the sun shone like a mirror in a cloudless sky, unrelenting and harsher than any other day Loki had been consigned to this wretched kingdom. The night had been productive, long and cool; Lily had been broken to his will shockingly easily, her desire to be wanted overcoming her ties to her mistress. Oh, she could say she had been inspired by piety or by some sort of heavenly duty, but he could sense that she would run headfirst, damn all consequences, to anyone who wanted or asked for her. He would have enjoyed a greater challenge, but her easily won loyalty would do for now. He had slept fitfully, finding himself woken at an early hour by a small child with a large stye in one eye and encrusted snot around its nose. It had blinked at him and told him in a dull monotone, "Her divine highniss says you've got to be on deck now, Prince, or you'll be left behind with the rats and that'll be no good at all." It had blinked again, before running out the room in what could only be described as a cross between a scamper and a tumble.

The child had at least had the bright idea to leave a ewer of clean river water outside the door. The sharp chill that the night provided had been replaced at some point with the inescapable heat of the day. His skin was damp and filthy with dried sweat already, and he understood with a grim clarity the obsession with washing these people held. He had a constant feeling of griminess next to his skin, covered with a layer of grease from the perfumed oils they insisted he use lest his skin dry out. He washed as quickly as he could, noting that even the water had been infused with some sort of salve or oil to give it a strong floral scent.

On the main deck, the women stood in gaggles, descending slowly into the small boats below. The same child from earlier, now laid low with a pile of feather fans, pointed with a stubby finger to the largest of the reed boats which boasted a large banner in dark green, hanging limply without wind to give it life. The queen Isis, in all her resplendent jewelled glory, was already sat there surrounded by her servants (bar one). A sunshade had been erected to give her and the princess Hathor a pleasant cover, and she waved an arm in greeting, bracelets clanking massively. They were thick set and gold, so many hundreds of slim bangles that they must be quite a weight to carry. An oarsman offered him an arm to help him down the rope ladder, but Loki declined, descending into the boat himself. It rocked unsteadily under his weight before he eventually settled himself next to Hathor, who looked to be beside herself with delight.

Isis shook her head, sending false curls wobbling, and clapped her hands. The boat was pushed off, making the little skiff rock violently from side to side, making the passengers squeal with surprise. "We had almost given you up for lost, Prince. You sleep so very late into the day! You waste the best parts of the morning in dreams, it is ever so lazy. Your people cannot be productive if they spend all their time asleep." She smiled widely, a cat's smile that showed all her teeth bared in a vicious grin.

"What time would you have me wake up, my queen? I am afraid that the celebrations that you ordered kept me awake. I could hear men celebrating above my room the entire night." Loki reflected her smile back to her. Hathor giggled next to him, cramming her knuckles into her mouth to stem them.

"I wake up before dawn. I must; my religious duties order that I rise so that I may greet the gods with the dawn, to feed them, clothe them and bathe them. Only then may I do these things myself – have you even broke your fast? Anippe, give me that basket! You look as though you would waste away in front of us! I think Hathor would grieve herself into an early grave if did so." Isis said rather wryly, grabbing a wicker basket from one of her slave girls and unpacking the plethora of food packed inside.

Osiris had made a good choice when he married her. He must have seen the potential in his girl child bride, that she would be a ruthless leader. Here she was, sat and making small talk with a man she planned to kill with her bare hands that very night. She giggled and chatted and urged him to eat fruit pastries and drink clear liquor and made a fuss of his insect bites. She had a heart of flint that beat fiercely for her sons and country. She had seen the same qualities, no doubt, in the bride she chose for her son, although it was hard to see them in the girl rapidly working herself into hysterics next to him. Maybe it was all an act. Perhaps Hathor was an exceptionally gifted actress and understood perfectly what was going on. It would have to be a prodigious talent to show itself in a girl like that, who was bending over the side of the boat and dangling her fingers in the water to stroke the fish, and then splashing it all over her servants.

"I would never be able to have the strength you have, princess. Your husband and your king are held prisoner, your country is being torn apart by civil war, yet you have the courage to smile and make light of it all." Loki attempted to make it sound as casual as possible, but Hathor's face dropped. Her jaw set grimly as she straightened up, ashamed. Isis sighed, haggard lines settling on her face. The twittering of the servants and the oarsman came to an abrupt silence. A song from another boat could be heard now, the singer using a strange warbled tone.

"It is in my nature to be merry when I am laid low," Hathor said quietly, her fingers picking at her shawl, pulling apart the threads, "and I am laid very low. My husband might be dead and there is nothing I can do about it. What point is there to grieving and living with a sad heart? It won't help him if I mourn. It won't help anyone else if I spend the day in tears."

"I am sorry-" He tried to back pedal desperately. His distaste had come out in his speech in sharp burrs – a schoolboy error, as the hysterical laughter was turning into distress.

"Sorry?" Hathor snapped, the grating girlishness gone, her voice like frost. "You might be some high and mighty prince, sent here by some all mighty king who watches over us all, but how dare you speak to me like that. I am married to the Crown Prince of the Upper Kingdom. My being is divine, my person sacred. You should remember your place and curb your tongue."

"Enough!" Isis shut her fan with a snap. "Two children bickering in the summer heat. Our minds must be peaceful for temple. I have been indulgent with you both, so, well, behave." She sighed and covered her eyes. "I sound like a greyhair. I'm barely old enough to be either of your mothers, it's ridiculous."

"I am most sorry, divine, beautiful, ageless queen, and I am sorry to the young princess. It's difficult for me, to be so far from my home… I didn't mean to sound so bitter." The apology was met with a throaty laugh from Isis and a watery smile from Hathor. She eyed him with a touch of wariness, and remained reserved for the rest of the journey.

They docked in a city far richer than any he had seen before in this kingdom. The docks were vast, stretching out across the horizon for miles, shoals of reed fishing boats floating on the current in large groups. Here and there were larger wooden merchant vessels, painting in bright gaudy colours. The people looked different; their skin was lighter, their bodies slightly shorter, their eyes rather large and almond shaped. They had more teeth than their countrymen up the river, ones that shone bright and white in their wide faces. People were lining the boats to watch the royal party come in; it looked as though a small forest had descended onto the quays. They had taken every scrap of cloth they could find and dyed it the deep green of the house of Osiris. Men had dyed their kilts, women wore green hair ribbons, and the children waved bright scraps of fabric. They cheered as the boats came closer, hailing the divine mother of Egypt and calling out prayers for the Pharaoh and Prince. A particularly adventurous group of teenage boys tried to throw things to some of the royal women, running along the dockside, until one slipped on the slick wood and had to be pulled out the river by his laughing friends. These subjects of Set had good reason to switch to his brother; the bright shining walls of the city were marred with the scars of war. Half of the cheerful red roofed buildings had been burnt away, crumbling with black wounds, and the walls were pitted with arrow holes. Set had put his own city to flame and sword. They had turned away from him, switched allegiance to a new king.

A litter had been provided, set out on the baked earth of the river bank, and the royal guards carried them out, out past the shining ruin of the city, out into the yellow shifting sands. It was remarkable, the clear line where the rich soil ended and the desert started. A barrier of life and death, ultimate and undeniable. The litters were carried along the line, out two miles to the boundary walls of a vast marble complex. Here, the royal guards that could be spared detached from the royal party, marching westwards to join the rest of the army. They had landed and marched into the desert at dawn, their tracks leading out towards another city and Set's encampment in a hidden valley. The traces of the camp were undeniable – the smoke from hundreds of cooking fires hung in the air, catching in the throat and stinging the eyes. It was a pleasure for Loki to step down from the uncomfortable jolt of the litter and the itchiness of the cushions and to walk into the peaceful sanctuary of the temple.

It was by far the most impressive building he had seen in this realm so far. What could he say? He had been raised in Asgard, and he couldn't help but sneer at the pathetic mud brick, the staid blockiness of their building, the clashing of lurid colours in patterns only a child could love. The temple of Ptah was a building built only for beauty, a place where the architects had first thought of where light would fall through shining glass. The building was tall and delicate, surrounded by fragrant trees bursting with ripe, heavy fruit, the constant gentle hum of fountains wrought in the shape of dancing girls. Hundreds of animals lived amongst the trimmed bushes, birds and dogs and cats, the latter of which were sunbathing on the pavements, eyes shut in contentment, tails flicking. Here and there were snatches of birdsong, bright and tuneful. This was a place of peace and meditation; even he could feel it, the power invested in the stones. A trio of priests stepped outside the stucco work doors, two of them the men from the war council room. They greeted the royal party with a distanced neutrality. They were probably not overjoyed with the calm being shattered for the sake of something as trivial as a war.

"Divine majesty, we are honoured to welcome you and your family. May you find safety and tranquillity inside our walls. Although, please remember that only those of noble blood can enter the temple itself, but we are happy for your household to set up tents in the courtyard. Just tell them to leave the animals alone." This was what Loki presumed to be the High Priest. His face was heavily made up, with his eyebrows removed and re-drawn, a strange false bead strapped to his chin. He wore loose bright white robes bound with a leopard skin round the waist, and he wore enough dazzling jewellery to rival all the women of the court. Close behind him, scores of similarly attired men had begun to slowly creep towards them but as Isis stepped from her own litter, her train straightened behind her by handmaids, they fell to the floor in one fell swoop, foreheads pressed into the ground.

"Thank you Ptahhotep, your loyalty is a shining beacon in these dark times. Have all preparations been made?" Isis dropped her hands into those of the High Priest's, who squeezed them gently. This was her homeland. What had Lily called herself? A daughter of the delta. The most powerful daughter of the delta had returned home for her most decisive victory, a victory helped and colluded by this High Priest. Maybe he had been her accomplice the first time she had raised the dead. The familiarity between them was palpable; he was almost fatherly in his manner.

"Everything is how you want it, my queen. It is all waiting in perfection – all it needs now is your heavenly presence." There it was – Ptahhotep reached out to touch her cheek gently and was not rebuked for his actions. "Now come, my children, follow me. You shall all be safe inside but I should like you to join us in worshipping the god as a measure of love and thanks for the timeliness of your arrival here, and a prayer to end the bloodshed. Please follow us." He spread an arm in welcome, his priests moving as silent waves, rushing forward amongst the women of the court and ushering them forwards. To Loki's surprise, amidst the chaos of organisation as the royal wives went inside, and the servants split to set up tents, Ptahhotep made a beeline for him. The older man gave an approximation of a friendly smile; it did not go to his eyes, which were cautious. He knew exactly what his queen had planned, and he was going to lead Loki to the slaughter himself.

"Forgive me for my impertinence, Prince of Asgard, but I presumed that you would not want to pay homage to the god of another people. I would not wish to force you to do something against your personal beliefs." He clapped his hands and a youth appeared at his side. It was a junior priest, judging by appearance, with rather glazed eyes. "Please, feel free to explore the temple. This is Adom, a most capable boy, he will guide you around until we are finished." Ptahhotep templed his fingers and gave a bow of his head. "I hope you find this acceptable, Prince."

"Yes, thank you for your consideration. Am I allowed anywhere in the complex?"

"Anywhere but the sanctuary. Only those ordained may enter into there, and I would beg of you to respect this. Other than that, go wherever you wish, by the grace of Ptah. We should have finished worship in an hour, roughly, and then I believe bedding and other more mundane things will be organised." The high priest gave another one of his miniature bows. "Excuse me, but I must be ready to lead the chant. May you live forever."

An hour? It would take a lifetime to properly appreciate this building. It was a maze of corridors and fluting pillars, of gigantic portraits extolling the virtues of a thousand kings, stretching far out across history. He had ended up walking along a palisade of elegantly carved arches, overlooking a vast crystal lake kept and maintained by the priests. Long legged cranes stepped nimbly around the edge, and ran with a strange loping grace towards him. They were eager for human contact, and butted their heads against his hands, trying to force him to stroke them. He suspected that the priests overindulged them, as they wriggled their heads like puppies into his sides, trying to peck at what they supposed to be a treat in his pockets. The youth Adom followed closely behind, like a dog. He said nothing and appeared to be utterly dumb. His face was free from adornment, but his cheeks had been tattooed extensively with intricately linked pictograms. He had a wide eyed quality about him that was overpowering; he did nothing but scamper behind and stare at Loki with watery eyes that did not blink. It was irritating but ignorable. Loki was content (for now) to wander along the echoing corridors, and feel lost amongst the silent stones.


	14. Chapter 14

In time, the dumb Adom made a pantomime of begging, to get Loki to follow him back to the main presence chamber. Once full of the clucking crowd of the hundreds of royal wives and their brats, it now stood empty, bare apart from flickering braziers casting shadows across walls of carved words, thousands of them, thick and dense and everywhere. He had no idea what they might possibly say, the Kemet written language made of pictures that seemed ridiculous. Ptahhotep stood in the centre of the room, his round belly hanging over the waistband of his kilt. He looked clean and relaxed, his garish makeup scrubbed away and his gaudy baubles removed. He bowed deeply as Loki approached.

"The divine majesty, the Queen Isis, has told me that you are aware of what our trifling efforts hope to achieve today. She hopes that you will still aid us in what we hope to achieve."

"Of course I shall. I only hope to repay the generosity she has shown to me before I leave."

"Very well. Then please, follow me." Ptahhotep clapped his hands together, and Adom rushed forwards, falling to the floor in a pile of flailing limbs. His thick fingers scrabbled around a single paving slab, searching for something, before there was a hushed click and a hidden trapdoor popped out. Inside the hole in the floor a curved stone staircase lead down to unknown places. Adom threw himself down them, running down steps he probably knew as well as he knew himself. Ptahhotep gestured forwards. "After you, Prince."

The stone on the steps was uneven, drooping sadly in the middle and making him stumble. He walked as cautiously as he could, but there was no handrail. He tried to hold onto the wall to steady himself, but the bedrock this staircase had been carved from was slimy, too slippery to hold a purchase on. These walls were carved too; as his fingertips rolled across them, he could feel the outlines of figures and buildings. They were more primitive than the ones upstairs, basic and crude; getting less defined and less stylised the further down they went. How many stairs were there? Two hundred, three hundred? Onwards and onwards the three went, walking down into the bowels of the realm itself, the darkness only kept at bay by a few torches, spitting with damp. Finally, after an endless dark age, Adom came to an abrupt halt. A fine silk curtain stood in front of them, illuminated from behind so it glowed with the colour of fresh blood. Adom drew it aside, beckoning him inside.

The room was as bright as the day outside, a sweep of spluttering braziers shining brightly and surrounding the priests. There were roughly fifty of them, sat in a circle around a golden scaffold and table. A youth similar to Adom was going from brazier to brazier, scattering powder on them that made the smoke they gave off was thicker, more purplish in colour. It gave off a sharp scent that tickled the nose and throat and made Loki want to sneeze. The circle was inscribed in white, and now Adom swept around in carefully, removing all trace of dirt or grit. Yet another priest went around laying out stacks of ivory discs to each of his brethren, who held them in his hands and began rubbing them between their hands. Ptahhotep strode forwards to the very centre of the circle, past the table holding a shallow dish of desert sand, to the woman trussed to the scaffold with thick leather straps. It was Isis, pale and drawn, nude, her long hair shaved clean away. She looked more like a child than a majestic queen, shivering, her eyes huge in her face. The high priest touched his lips gently to her forehead, as tenderly as a father with his child, and took his own place at the head of the circle.

"Come sit here. We must make haste – the queen has already taken the draught, and we must work quickly. Sit here, and take the mazes." Ptahhotep forced Loki to sit down next to him, and piled ten ivory discs into his hands. They were soft like human skin, worn by excessive use. "Shuffle them and warm them with your hands. In a minute, we are going to place them on the line of the circle and then we shall start to pray. Join with us when you can."

He wanted to drop the discs; immediately, they warmed, becoming supple and firm, feeling like slices of human flesh squeezed between his fingers. They spilled from his unwilling hands, landing with an unpleasantly dense thud onto the chalk outline on the floor. The other priests, taking his reluctant lead, spread theirs out, resting their hands upon them, and beginning to sway backwards and forwards.

"_Hail to thee, thou who art great and old, Ptah, father of the gods, the great god from the first primordial time who fashioned mankind and made the gods,_" they chanted. Their voices were low at first, but the chant stuck to a strict timing, the beat of a heart, so that the voices pulsed with the pulse of life. Bright blue lines began to trace across Isis's prone body, strange words forming on her limbs and racing upwards towards her heart, "_first one after whom everything that appeared developed, he who made the sky as something that his heart has created, who raised it by the fact that Shu supported it, who founded the earth through that which he himself had made, who surrounded it with Nun and the sea, who made the nether world and gratified the dead, who causes Ra to travel in order to resuscitate them as lord of eternity._" The five words, which wriggled and refused to be read correctly, formed across Isis's heart, a fist sized black blotch against her skin that looked as though it were a hole right through her chest. "_Lord of boundlessness, lord of life, he who lets the throat breathe and gives air to every nose, who with his food keeps all Mankind alive, to whom lifetime, limitation of time and evolution are subordinate, through whose utterance one lives."_ Her eyes glowed with an unnatural light, and the queen started to cough and choke, as if something were caught in her throat. The sand in the shallow bowl began to writhe, rising up high before falling back, flowing across as if it were water in the midst of a storm. "_Lord of eternity, to whom boundlessness is subordinate, breath of life for everyone who conducts the king to his great seat in his name, 'king of the Two Lands'." _ The sand rose up slowly, rising like a snake unfurling its hood, swaying in front of the queen and the chanting priests. It turned, as if it were a living creature observing all that was presented in front of it, almost as if it found the scene infinitely pleasing. A murmur that could not be understood whispered throughout the room. The braziers snuffed out immediately, making the room as black as pitch.

* * *

Out in the desert valley, a common soldier peered out across the sands. There was a strange pressure in the air that made his head ache, his insides knotting around themselves. From the winching attitudes of his comrades, he could tell they were experiencing the same pains as him. It was probably some sickness spread by the dirtiness of camp life. They had been here almost two weeks, camping in their own filth, relying on brackish water buried in the dunes by a long since dead exploratory division. Food supplies were running low as tempers were running high. Who knew how long they would be forced to live out here, as if they were barbarians, as if they were Bedouin consigned to live outside of civil society? The army had captured the Pharaoh Osiris and his brat, was that enough? How long would they have to wait until Pharaoh Set had them executed, or Osiris's whore would send the dregs of her army to fight them? In his opinion, she never would. Why would she risk send out a force to retrieve a husband and a son near dead from starvation and exposure? She had both the princes of the two kingdoms in her grasp. She had the upper hand. Pharaoh Set could sit here with his army until one day, like all other men, he would surely die. And then the whoreson of Nephthys and her brother-in-law would inherit, making this all incredibly pointless. It was about the reclamation of honour, a simple man like himself could appreciate that, but it seemed to be a better idea to just make another peace treaty and let everything blow over. Anything was better than to leave them all to rot out here.

To the immense surprise of all encamped, a thick yellow fog dropped out of nowhere, blanketing all the surrounding landscape. No man could see a foot in front of him. It was as if they had all been cursed with blindness. The camp fires extinguished, a spate of hisses and cracks echoing in the silence across the valley. Nothing living made a sound, hushed into a terrified silence. And then the screams began.

"By the sweet milk of the goddess Satet, the gods have turned against us!"

"We are all dead! We have been cast into the wastes of the underworld! We have died a second time!"

"The witch Isis has cast a spell to damn us all! We are all dead!"

"Gods, forgive us! I only do as the Pharaoh commands! I am not a sinner!"

The soldier did not cry out; not from any hidden sense of bravery, he found that his voice had curdled in his throat and refused to come out from behind his teeth. He could not see a thing, apart from vague shadows, and he clutched the nearest man, holding onto him as a sign that the real world was still out there. The darkness felt like the skeletal clutches of death itself, and he felt like he was starting to go mad. And that was when the sandstorm started. A primordial khamsin, a sign of the gods wrath upon man and nature, a sandstorm of terrible proportions. The sand was whipped into the air and beat down on the soldiers below, splitting their skin like whips, flying into their eyes and mouths to choke and blind them further. The solider was thrown from his friend, as he ran off into the darkness to find a shelter of his own. All around, he could hear men trying to running, to flee, falling to the ground and crying out for help that could not come. He stumbled over, landing face first into the ground, the flying sand scraping every inch of his skin. He lifted his head to see a most extraordinary sight.

Amongst the maelstrom of sand, he could see a cloaked figure coming towards him, the face hidden with a helmet shaped like a gigantic bird. The figure was walking slowly but surely towards them, and men who had thrown themselves on the ground to seek some means of shelter raised out their hands to the figure for some measure of help. One man threw himself bodily at the figure, nearly knocking him off balance.

"Thank you sir for coming to save us! The whore Isis has cast us this storm against us – can you lead us out into the clear?"

The figure did not answer him, but drew out a great battle axe, scarred and worn with use. There was something vaguely familiar about that axe, something terrible and foreboding. The blade managed to shine in the yellow bleakness, a golden bronze sheen. The soldier clutching at his leg was pushed back slightly, and without a seconds hesitation, the weapon swung out and split the man's head open like a rotten melon.

"What are you doing? He didn't do anything wrong to warrant such a punishment!" The soldier cried out, his feet scrambling around underneath him. This was wrong, this was all wrong.

A hand, a great scarred hand that was thin and delicate, reached out to the mess that had been a living man. The fingers sifted through it, turning a dark blood red, before reaching up to the helmet and daubing the face underneath.

"Why are you doing that? Who are you?" He reached to the sword at his side but his fingers couldn't work, they couldn't get a purchase on the scabbard.

The bloody hands grasped the bottom of the helmet, pulling it from the head with a flourish. A face that inspired abject fear into the guts of any common soldier was revealed to him; the awful, scar ridden, malevolent features of she who mauls, the bitch Sekhmet. She had come ahead of her forces, as was her fancy, to engage in some hand to hand slaughter by herself. There was no man who had fought her and won. The soldier looked up into her face, painted with the blood of the fallen, her eyes alive with the joy of warfare. She raised that powerful war axe again, her muscles swelling with the effort, and the soldier's chest lit up with agony, leaking like a cracked wine jar.

She left him bleeding into the sands, taking the care to crush his fingers and nose under her feet, and the soldier died with the dying screams of his squadron in his ears.


	15. Chapter 15

Isis's head lulled against the bolster of her couch. She felt exhausted like a greybeard, her bones had curdled to lead inside her limbs, and she could feel the loathsome embrace of Death himself. To call upon the god Ptah had taken almost all her life energy, but it had been entirely necessary. All magic in the kingdoms of Kemet took life force; an adept had to sacrifice part of themselves to operate magic. It was the mark of a true devotion to magic, that you would give away some of your essence to keep the spell alive. It was a trick she had learnt at her grandfather's knee – even if she had had to force his hand.

Like the best of the old delta nobility, he was a cantankerous old bastard, with one wizened white eye and a wrinkled head like a nut. He had hated Isis and her sister with a passion; the spark of otherness had been passed onto them, so he watched them grow with a sharp eye. He had been a constant stinking figure at her father's mansion, an inherited irritation of her mother's. A menace with a stick, she had been terrified of him all her childhood until that blessed summer day. They had all gone on a family walk through the fields, and she had been given the unpleasant job of following her grandfather, lest he drop anything behind. He had spat on the ground before scuttling away, and as she looked upon it, it shimmered in the bright sunlight. Working quickly, she had fashioned it into a small model of a poisonous asp, and to her great surprise and delight it had come to life. Isis had sent it after her grandfather and it had struck him surely on the ankle. He collapsed near immediately, the poison racing towards his heart. What a malicious thrill it had been to stand over him and demand his knowledge! He had refused, of course, but she refused to cure him lest he tell her the hidden five words of power, the secret names of a great and ancient god. When known, they revealed all that was needed to become a master of magic – well, mistress in her case. She had told her twin sister the words, and they had conspired together in their youth and vanity. They would make the kingdoms fall at their feet to worship the clever, beautiful sisters from the delta.

They had been so young to begin at kingdom making and so foolish. They had cast a spell to have the grandest husbands in the realm – the royal princes Osiris and Set. They had infused their minds with such a longing for the sisters that they would have no choice but to marry them. It had seemed to be such a brilliant idea, like an old folk tale. She had made herself a queen at the age of thirteen. Vain, stupid child she was. She had ignored her grandfather's warnings; that whatever spell was cast, it effected the balance of the world around you. In Kemet, the health and vitality of the kingdom relied upon the health and strength of its government. How could the land be healthy when the kings had been so cozened? The spell had addled their minds, sending the brothers into a vicious fury with each other. Civil war had spread like a disease throughout the two kingdoms, and the child brides had to learn hard lessons. Isis had had to rise up and become a great leader, and hardened her heart. Magic would have to undo magic… Her husband was eviscerated on the battlefield, his body butchered into fourteen pieces, and the only cure was the most terrible spell of all. Magic could not create life (oh! But if it could, Nephthys would have made herself ten healthy children, and all of them boys) but it could move the essence of life from one body to another. She had only done what was needed to be done, she told herself sternly, as she had done on a daily basis the sixteen years since. The old king was elderly and feeble, though his mind and spirit were strong. She had to save her husband, provide safety, stability and a rallying point for the kingdom. He must live, and her infant son's grandfather had to die. It would appear as if he had had a stroke, a great tragedy that would allow Osiris to spread his wings and truly rule as the great man he could be.

That had been the ruin of the kingdoms, that moment, when Isis as a thirteen year old girl, traumatised by war and birth, had taken a dagger to old Pharaoh Geb's throat. She could see it now, as a woman nearing thirty, that it had been the ruin of it all. She had made a crack in the balance of the kingdoms by killing one god to raise another and each year, the kingdoms had been growing sicker and sicker. The inability of her brother-in-law was but one sign. Attitudes of the nobility had hardened; they seemed to possess no great love for their brothers and sisters of the river, and were obsessed with the constant seeking of their own pleasure. Why, look at Hathor's family; well-bred but behaved like rutting animals in a farmyard. Look at the royal court itself; a flurry of feasts and midnight celebrations, staying up all night and sleeping through most of the day, hunting trips and pleasure cruises, and masked dances. The kingdoms had once possessed an expanding empire; now forces were daubed across frontier lines, barely maintaining the territory they possessed. Things were fracturing almost irreparably, and then the sign from the Gods came.

The sky caved in at her Uncle Kamenwati's fine estate and Nephthys believed it a sure sign of the God's displeasure against her actions. Using her magical arts in her desperation for a child, she had lain with Osiris in the guise of her twin. Isis felt no hatred or anger towards her sister. She had been driven out of her mind with the need for an heir, and done as she saw fit. She was angry that Nephthys had run wild with remorse straight to her husband and gabbled to him all the secrets of her heart – only after sending their son to Isis's side, correctly anticipating her husband's reaction. Isis had not heard any word of her sister since. All news was a month stale, ever since Set, in a black rage, had closed off the border and forced war on his unsuspecting brother. Her magic had done this, and now it was her magic that would solve things. Isis could not doubt that her husband was dead. She had spent night after night on her knees before her private altar and she had tried to scry for his spirit whenever she had a minute fee. She could not sense Osiris in the world of the living anymore and she could not mourn him, not yet. To grieve publicly would be to incite defeat in her army and her son still lived. She could sense Horus survived but that he was failing quickly. Tonight he would die if it were not for her hand. She would be a mistress of magic once more and leave her son to knit the two kingdoms into one. The Gods would surely be displeased with the perfection of Kemet being bespoiled but destiny had clearly writ that the two would be joined. Even if it meant the death of another.

She did not desire what she had to do. It was loath in her bones. She would have the blood of another woman's son on her hands, and it would undo her soul indeed. She could not guarantee her place in paradise to join her husband, not now. Her heart was heavy with sin – even if it was necessary sin. The prince of Asgard was a liar, with a heart seeped in sin, but what right had she to take the life of another? Other than the right of a mother's duty to her best beloved child, and the right of a queen to her country. Horus was a balm deeply needed for the ragged wounds inflicted by her own actions, and for that, she would kill any number of men.

Isis's weak body had been carried from the chamber underneath the temple, born up on a litter with shrouded curtains so that no one would see the Divine Mother of Ta Shemau brought low as if to death. She had not even the energy to move her head, and a maidservant had to hold her up to drink. It was Esho, with her hard and common features, her face openly disapproving and downright scornful.

"Where is my dearest Lily? She knows what to do…" Lily knew best how to serve her when she was exhausted from magic. The girl had been her dearest companion since Isis had married; one lonely girl taking solace in a strange land with her abandoned cousin. Isis had taken the girl as a substitute for her missed sister, wanting only a friend in a world populated by strangers, but she now saw Lily as her own daughter and greatest friend. She loved her as much as she did Horus… perhaps slightly more, as she felt she would die inside if she were to send the girl away. She hoarded her presence to herself, to the point of blindness. She had been willingly blind as the girl grew into a beautiful and desirous woman, and taken quite by surprise as Lily had declared her intention to marry. Isis had spent so much time protecting Lily from the marriage machinations of her father that it had come almost from nowhere. She granted it, of course, delirious with happiness at her match with Remrem – if she were to marry a slave, she would stay a slave forever, never to leave Isis's side.

"You sent her away. She was impertinent. I don't know where she has gone, if you would have me send for her." Esho's eyes narrowed, as if she thought that Lily deserved more punishment than to simply be cast from the side of her mistress.

"No." Isis's mood darkened as she remembered what had happened yesterday. "I have not yet forgiven her. Fetch me my case, and something to eat."

"It is here, my queen." Esho pulled a leather medical case, her muscles straining with effort.

"Bring out the green bottle with the sapphire stopper. Pour it into a bowl with some honey." Isis ordered, trying to sit up with difficulty. One of her handmaidens appeared almost instantly at her side carrying a bowl of figs and dates, and began to peel some with quick and nimble fingers.

The fight from yesterday… it was so trivial and yet so crucial. Lily was at an awkward stage; she was like a child running from figs to pomegranates, taking bites of each, but spoiling both. She didn't know what to think or how to react now that her father was dead. The great resentment she had held for the man would not dissipate as swiftly as the man himself, it could merely be redirected. And so it had fallen onto Isis's shoulders. Of course the girl would be furious with her, at the woman who must appear cruel and capricious to refuse to free her, but her tantrum had come at the worst possible time. Isis could not set her free, not now, not when she needed the support of those she loved best. She could not send off her cousin and dearest companion to an estate in tatters, plundered by a king for the war effort, and unprotected against whatever might fall at her door. She could be murdered, or kidnapped for a great ransom, or taken to marry one of the delta lords who sought to leap into greatness by abusing the weakness in his kingdom. A particularly treacherous man could even declare himself Pharaoh by marrying Lily! He could use her fortune and popularity to make himself a god-king, and Isis would not risk that. It would ruin everything. It would be better to broker her hatred until she was securely married and the kingdoms at peace again. She would calm down once she was wedded and settled.

Esho presented Isis the bowl with little flourish, shoving it into the queen's hands. The liquid lay pooled, a murky unhealthy green, and without ceremony, Isis lifted the clay bowl to her lips and drank it down in a single draft. It tasted foul, only slightly better with the honey, and Isis had to make a real effort to keep it down and not bring it up across her lap. The potion worked its magic quickly, travelling through her muscles and veins, zapping her with artificial energy.

"Has there been any word from the battlefield? How goes the battle? Are we successful in our endeavours?" Her voice was stronger as her body filled with a magical burst of energy that would fade in time, but lifted her from her deathly exhaustion.

"None of the soldiers or their commanders have returned yet but the head of the war council, Lord Mosi, has been sent word from Lady Sekhmet. She is in the midst of battle, but she says it is a great victory. The khamsin disabled the black jackal's soldiers and they are being slaughtered as we speak. She will offer no mercy to the forces guarding divine Pharaoh or the Prince, as they are still holding firm. It will be several hours before they break; be you assured that you have lead the kingdom into a mighty victory, and that all who might oppose you are crushed beneath your feet." The slave girl with the figs beamed broadly, showing off fine white teeth, but Isis could not find the joy to smile. She was pleased enough with the victory, although she knew the slaughter would continue for a long, long time. It was a peculiar tradition of the armies of Kemet that after the battle was one, the winning side went around the bodies of the dead and dying and took souvenirs – normally a finger or a nose, but occasionally a hand, a foot, an ear, or worse, genitalia. These would be piled so the death toll could be officially counted… and then they would be presented to the victorious Pharaoh and his queen, as a sure sign of their blessed nature. The thought made her stomach twist and turn as if it were a nest of snakes. It would take a fair few days for the gruesome relics to be collected. At least she would have her son back in her arms by then. Life could return to normal. She could rebuild the kingdom, a better kingdom, a more refined and purified kingdom.

"Wash me and dress me. Prepare me for meeting the Prince Loki of Asgard in Ptahhotep's rooms at the third watch of the night." She tried to stand up, but staggered back on weak legs, making the handmaidens squeal and rush forward to catch her in their arms.

"You are too weak mistress!"

"Sleep a while, and visit him in the morning."

"Mistress, he is in the same state as you. Rest, you are much tired from magic. If you over exert yourself, you could damage yourself!"

"You are too precious to us mistress!"

"You will do as I ask you. I would not do this unless it was important." Isis said stiffly, forcing herself to sit up straight like her mother had taught her. Head up, back straight, never showing the world what you felt, how tired, how depressed, never letting a tear fall. Better to rip your lips and let your mouth fill with blood than to show weakness. So she sat while her flesh screamed, as hot ewers of water were poured over her, as her hair was dried, bushed until it crackled over her shoulders, braided it and placed the long, raven black wig over the top. She sat there, stiff and unmoving, as her face was painted, and a dress of bleached white linen fell over her body, the great golden girdle that nipped and bit at the flesh of her belly, and the heavy crown made to look like a vulture. These items made her war paint; without them, she was just another woman older than her time, waiting for a missing son. Now she was a queen, and as Esho whispered that the third watch was approaching, her apprehension and dread filtered away, leaving her with a cool sense of purpose.

She reached out her magic box. The potion was wearing off, the exhaustion returning to gnaw at her muscles, her head swimming. She pulled out of a hidden compartment a rare dagger, a wedding gift from her father. It was made of a strange and exotic metal, a dark silver that must be carefully maintained. If left alone, a strange red growth would appear on the blade, almost as if the metal was bleeding. It had to be rubbed regularly with mutton fat. It gleamed with a deadly purpose. She checked how sharp it was by pricking the tip of her thumb. Blood appeared quickly, jewel bright in the brazier light. Now was the time.

"Leave. No one is to follow me. No one is to stay in my rooms. If anyone disobeys, they will be punished most severely." Isis said softly, clutching the dagger closely. The slave girls look at her with confusion on their faces, but bowed to the floor and left as one. She hoped they wouldn't try to follow for their sakes.

The stones were cool, her bare feet making barely any sound as she walked slowly and steadfastly across the temple. Ptahhotep's rooms were close to the centre, close to the sanctuary, ready in case the living idol of the god needed anything. They were decorated sumptuously, almost fit for royalty. Well, Ptahhotep was almost royalty. Priestly royalty. His family had served in the role of high priest of Ptah for hundreds of years, they names and deeds inscribed for eternity upon the stones they had built. They had made this place, their dedication and blood making this one of the greatest temples in the land. All the nobles of the delta worshipped here. Isis had run through the corridors as a child and knew this place as intimately as her Golden Palace. Ptahhotep had long been a dear friend, an unwavering bastion of support. He knew her gifts and the deeds she had done to save her family and kingdom. He would never judge her. In fact, he had been her greatest help in organising these events. He had exited the priests this evening, so that no one would have to witness the awful murder she would have to do. She stepped through the linen curtains into the room where the Prince stayed. The night was silent, as if the very animals themselves were ashamed of her actions. The room was decorated with bright frescos, showing the lives of Ptahhotp's family and how they served Ptah. There were few items of furniture, as was the style, aside from two low couches in the centre of the room, made of precious wood.

On one, the Prince Loki lay asleep. The braziers that glowed with fresh coals gave off a pungent odour of mushrooms. She had put red flower powder in the Prince's drinks earlier, to make this easier, but Ptahhotep had taken an extra step. He wanted to avoid making this harrowing, to provide some small scant comfort. With the Prince unconscious, she wouldn't have to watch his face as she killed him. She wouldn't want his face to haunt her dreams until her dying die and beyond. He was laid out across the couch, apparently lost in a deep, drugged sleep. How old was he? She felt like a greyhair next to him, a monstrous old hag with an evil heart. He had a mother who loved her son as intensely as she loved Horus, a woman who would grieve, her soul rent in two. She would never know what had happened to the boy she loved, other than her son had vanished. It would rend a hole in her that nothing could ever heal. It would be an unknown consolation that it would hurt Isis the same, and surely damn her soul to live outside the eternal fields.

She walked towards the sleeping figure as quietly as she could, her heart pounding so loudly inside her chest she felt sure that it could be heard. She held the dagger so tightly that the hilt began to cut into her palm, but the pain kept her focused. She crouched down in front of the couch, mouth dry, guilt pounding in her temples. She tried to lick her lips but she had no saliva and it felt as if her tongue were made of sand. She reached out to him, moving her arm inch by inch, half determined, half desperate for him to wake and stop this madness. Her hand landed on his neck, and felt for the pulse, his skin cold to the touch. She counted the passing of his life, comparing it to her own. It was sluggish and even. She inched her palm down, to reach out for his chest and feel his heartbeat. That was slow too. He was fast asleep. She knew that already. She was just doing all she could to delay the inevitable. She took a deep breath, withdrawing her hand. It was time. She squeezed the hilt of the dagger, raising it level with her head. She wriggled her fingers, and almost cried out with pain as the blood flowed back into them. She took another breath and as quick as a viper, stabbed the dagger with all her woman's might through the chest of the Prince Loki.

And to her great surprise, the sleeping figure flickered and vanished before her eyes.


	16. Chapter 16

This was such a ridiculous plan. Lily reprimanded herself severely inside her head as she stole along to Isis's tent. She knew there was no one inside (as the flickering torchlight showed no figures, their shadows caught against the striped linen) but there would be guards by the doorway, there always was. Feeling like a common thief, she fell on her belly and crawled under the fabric, wriggling in the dirt, legs kicking in the air without purchase. Her nerves were singing with fear the whole time. Even in the best of circumstances, when she enjoyed Isis's favour, a passing guardsman would pluck her up and question what she was doing. Thankfully, they were out doing something useful, patrolling the temple boundaries. She could hear snatches of the battle occasionally, screams and clashes caught on the wind, buffeted out of valley. It must be going well. That boded well for the escape. To get to her father's estate, they would have to be ferried to Buto and walk from there. The ferry to Buto was some eighty miles upriver. They would need a light chariot from the stables and a team of horses. This could never go unnoticed by Isis, a vengeful queen denied her murder, her sharp eyes would find them in a heartbeat.

Apart from if the battle was won.

It went without saying that if the battle was lost then she would never come after them. She would have to make a mad scramble to rise up Harpocrates as the new Pharaoh of the Upper Kingdom, and to make lords and governors swear fealty to him. She would be as devoted to her second son as her first. That devotion would be her undoing in this matter. When the battle was won, she would rush to her son's side to make sure he was safe, and find some other poor soul to die for him. Then the dead would have to be counted and buried; honourable soldiers of the Upper Kingdom would receive good wholesome burials, their bodies made intact, goods given so they would travail through the obstacles to the underworld. The brutes of Set's army would be mutilated, their bodies stripped of goods, buried in mass graves as an eternal punishment for hearing the war cries of their divine king and being loyal to him. If any great lords had died, they must receive proper stately funerals. If any bad had fallen, their lands and properties would be forfeit to the crown and would be split up accordingly. Set would have to be sought out, especially if Osiris was found dead. Osiris's body would begin the seventy day embalming process; Set, whose only crime was his pride, would be stripped of his kingship and executed by her cousin, the new Pharaoh Horus. That would take a while to organise; it would have to be done in Set's capital, so all the people could see the historical event of a god being removed of his divinity and slaughtered like a beast. And then Horus would have to be crowned. He ought to have been crowned on the battlefield, as befitting the old customs, and married to a daughter of the defeated man's house. Obviously, that would not happen here. Horus would be patched up, to kill his uncle, and then be made a god like his father and his grandfather, crowned to the accolades of his people and their fickle loyalties. Isis would have to be by her son's side through all this; her people, Lily's people, would want to see their delta queen with her son, a sign of his delta blood, their daughter coming back to give them her son.

It would need at least a week. It would have to be organised, guests invited, soldiers to be patched up, gowns to be made, feasts cooked… no time for an angry queen to send out scouts looking for one solitary chariot. By the time she could send a force out to them, it'd be too late. She would be long gone, travelled away with a new master, gone amongst distant moons and stars.

She pulled herself up, and brushed away dirt from the front of her dress. Dresses. She hadn't even thought of that. As she pulled the dress straight, she looked about the airy tent. It was as she suspected. Things had been so rushed, so hurried, so unprepared for that her own cot had been placed in its customary position at the foot of Isis's sumptuous bed, where it had always been for the past sixteen years. The old shift she wore at night had been washed and folded at the end of the cot. Lily reached out a hand, feeling the threadbare fabric under her fingertips. For a second, she was moved by the simplicity of the gesture. That she would just snap back into the place she would always have, that she was wanted back. But her heart hardened as she looked down at the gown she wore. It had been dyed the vibrant fertile green of Osiris's house. It showed the world how she was owned, body and soul, by a woman who professed to love her while keeping her away from her inheritance. Her rightful inheritance. The old anger began to burn again.

If her bed was here, then her belongings would be too. Sure enough, as she scrabbled around underneath it, she found the dull wooden box that contained everything she owned. Except that she didn't own it. She didn't own anything. _She_ was property. She threw open the box. A few dresses, some clean linens, a pair of old sandals… the only thing with any real worth was a necklace of pretty red and white coral beads, an engagement gift from Remrem. She never wore it, but as she ran the beads through her fingers, she decidedly to place it around her neck, the pendant hanging between her breasts, cold against her flushed skin. She piled the dresses into a battered leather shoulder bag, and then took the waterskin from the low table. And then a large pile of dates. And the loaf of dhurra corn bread. Supplies would be hard to come by once they had left the temple complex. Feeling proud of herself for thinking of this, Lily now began to think of the impossible task ahead of her – to find where Isis had stowed the five words of power.

Oh, how proud and vain she had been! It must have been an inherited trait on her family. Their high pride. She had promised to find the source of the Mistress of Magic's power. In truth, she had no idea where Isis would hide them. If she had to hide an all-powerful magical object, capable of unknowable and uncontrollable power… well, she'd probably destroy it after learning all its secrets, to make sure no one save herself could use it. Lily was practical like that. Isis would keep something like that close. It was her family legacy; there were few in the kingdoms as adept as she. It would be near her person, to be watched at all times. Lily looked around the small, warm room. There was nothing here. A bed, a cot, a rug, a brazier, two floor cushions, the scrying dish…

Lily picked up the heavy bronze dish. It was like a mirror, wide and near flat, aside from a shallow indentation making it like a bowl. There, you placed the medium through which you would see answers to your questions. Stones were generally more reliable, although everything they presented was rather dull and unimaginative. You could use dirt, but it only told you about the past. Water showed you glimpses of everything, past, present and future, but it only really showed you impressions, shadows of reality, and answers were incredibly elusive. Isis preferred to use fire. Fire was the wildest element and what it presented was uncontrollable. It presented the worst of a situation, never bothering to lie. Lily held the dish in her arms, having to use both to support its weight. Should it be that heavy? It was only made of a thin bronze, but the base was clunky and heavy. Far too thick for the dish it was moulded to. She turned it upside down, examining the stand. It didn't quite match properly; the bronze was darker and rougher than the rest of the bowl. As she peered at it, squinting in the low light, she could see a tiny hairline split between the two pieces of metal. Lily wedged a fingernail between them, trying to pry it free. The base was stiff – it probably hadn't been moved in years. It would not give way under her frantic efforts. She could hear the cries of the third watch outside, and her heart stopped with dread. Midnight. Loki would be escaping from the knife of Isis, and Remrem would be waiting for him. She had to get out, now! With frustration, she threw the dish down on the floor as hard as she could.

The bronze base struck the edge of a paving stone hidden underneath the rug and flew off with a resonant clunk. Gods be praised! They were surely smiling on her efforts. And there, lying on the sheets of Isis's bed, was what surely must be the five words of power. Five stones of five different colours, welded onto a small golden collar, fit for a child. As Lily picked them up, they felt heavy and hot in her hands, as if a great amount of energy was flowing from them straight into her bones, flowing through her body down into the depths of the ground. Each stone had a hieroglyph scratched onto it, a pictograph so old she couldn't recognise it. She couldn't understand what it said at all, and the letter wriggled under her sight. Her mind didn't want to admit that they existed; they are not there, the stones have nothing on them, her mind swore – and yet here they were, as her finger traced the engravings slowly. Here they were. The five words of power. The secret names of a god. The whispered words that Ptah used when he spoke all things into being, including himself.

"You cozening slut."

The words were low and dangerous, as sharp and unexpected as a knife in the back. Lily spun round, her face flushing with the embarrassment of being caught and her mouth readying a reply, the righteous fury of the guilty springing to action to excuse her actions. Instead of some slave girl or Esho, who she had been expecting, she saw Isis in all her magnificence in the doorway. She took another step towards Lily, who was trapped as surely as a rat in a trap.

"You cozening, thieving slut." Her voice was slightly slurred, and she swayed as she came forwards. She was waving the mysterious grey dagger, her hands unsteady.

"Thieving, mistress? What do you mean?" Lily's voice was remarkably level, considering that her nerves were screaming at her, her legs shaking slightly, as she held the collar in the small of her back. She watched the sweep of the dagger carefully, her eyes never leaving it.

"What is this? My scrying dish is broken, the base is empty! You have taken the five words of power! Taken them, and given them to that prince! How else could he get out of the temple, and, and vanish in front of my eyes! Why did you do this? Base born slut, you have betrayed your queen and your betrothed!" With a sudden burst of speed and accuracy, Isis sprung out and grabbed Lily by the arm, squeezing, and burying her nails into the tender flesh of her arm. Lily cried out in pain, her legs giving way in shock, dark spots of blood forming around Isis's nail beds.

"I haven't done anything, I was just fetching my, my lute, that's all! I would never betray you, my most beloved queen, my sweetest cousin, I love you most of all!" Lily cried out in panic, only to be slapped across the face for her efforts. The hand that slapped her was the one that clasped the dagger, so the sharp edge caught her cheek, making a razor thin cut that drip blood down her cheeks. Lily shrieked, feeling her cheek, seeing the bright red blood on her fingers.

"Liar." Isis spat, her eyes unfocused. She looked down at the dagger, registering the red drips slowly falling down the blade. She held it up close to her face, squinting at it. "I ought to have punished you a long time ago. You are insolent and disrespectful. You abuse the trust I placed in you. You are a poor slave and an even poorer woman, to open your legs for some demon from another world." With a furious wail, the queen began to slap Lily's face, torso and arms with abandon, the blade cutting where it landed, so the girl screamed out at the madness, throwing her arms around her head to deflect the blows. "I gave you everything! I gave you everything you could ever want. I placed high above any other servant. I let you live as a freeborn woman! I kept you safe; I kept you safe from a father who sought to marry you to a lecher, safe from brothers who'd rather you dead, safe from men who would seek to debase you and make you a common harlot! You are vain and greedy, and it is my fault. You have killed my son and ruined your kingdom. I will have to teach you humility before we are all food for dogs."

Isis's fingers begin to work their way through Lily's hair, yanking it up into one clump clenched in her fist, raking across her scalp to make sure no solitary hair had escaped. "I did everything for you!" The chill of the dagger was scraped across the back of Lily's neck, and she realised now what was happening. She was helpless to struggle. She could only cry out and howl inhumanly as Isis hacked at her hair, locks floating to the ground in handfuls, until Lily fell to the ground when the queen cut away the clump that was holding her up. Her scalp ached and her skin stung from dozens of shallow and deep cuts, the cuts burning where dirt and sand had got in. She lay back, every part of her screaming, panting with fear and anger. Isis was breathless with her efforts, falling back onto her bed, moping her brow with a shaking hand. She stared at the dagger as if she didn't quite believe it was in her hand, that she had used it against a girl she had raised and loved, and dropped it with a clatter to the floor. "You will return the words now, and we shall forget all this nonsense. I will kill the prince, and you will be sold to Remrem. I was going to grant you your freedom, you know. As a wedding gift I would give you your papers from the magistrate. Free to live the life of an unburden lady of leisure. Accept my mercy for your treason."

"Mercy? What mercy?" Lily picked herself up, knuckles pushed into the dirt, screaming out, her bones cracking, scraps of hair falling about her chilled neck and shoulders. She clenched the five words of power in her hand, the stones growing warmer, feeling as if they were a part of her flesh, an extension of her will. "You kept me away from what was rightfully mine out of _spite_. How could anyone stand to look at you with me by your side? A pitiful queen, one who can't even keep the interest of her husband, forced to watch with a cold smile on her face as he marries and marries again – he even takes her _sister_ to bed. You watched me grow up and decided, in your loneliness, to keep me with you, like a pet. Only now, men watched me with eyes of lust and women wanted my company, and I became more popular and more beloved than you ever could be. A threat to your standing, a better version of yourself who could rise up higher than you ever dreamt of, if she cared to. So you tied me to a common man, and hoped to loose me in the country. I won't accept it! I won't be held back, dear cousin, not anymore. I have found a new master, one that doesn't fear me, one that doesn't hate me!" Her voice rose higher and higher with each sentence, years and years of quiet thoughts and suspicions pouring out of her mouth, the paranoia from a hundred stolen glances and court whispers finally coming out in one fell swoop. Terrible timing really, for her to be screaming her darkish nightmares while the world was tearing itself apart around them, but she couldn't really help it. "You wanted me to be as lonely as you were, two lonely souls together. I don't want your common scraps, the things you throw to me. I will take the future the gods have gifted to me."

Isis's eyes turned black with fury, and she forced herself upwards, her arm swinging out to strike again. But Lily struck first. She jumped forwards with a confidence and a strength she didn't truly feel, the chain from which the words were hung dangling, and she struck her cousin and queen, the closest thing she had to a mother, on her forehead with the most powerful magical artefact known in the whole of their realm. The older woman stiffened, her mouth slack with fear, as a golden wave effused from the stones, cascading down her body like a wave of water. Where the golden drops fell her skin turned grey, spreading out and covering the warm brown of her flesh. Lily touched a grey spot with her fingertip, finding it cold, almost like stone. As she touched it she knew instantly that this would not last, Isis would be in this state for about forty five minutes at most. She did not know how she knew, only that she knew it to be true. She left Isis frozen as a statue, backing away like a guilty child from the damage she had done, turning away and not looking back. Aside from to actually pick up her lute as she said she was going to do. It was an expensive instrument. Might as well take it with her.


	17. Chapter 17

Remrem paced, his arms crossed across his chest. He would occasionally through surreptitious glances at the silent figure stood across from him, although he kept them under lowered lids. Lily had told him this man was a king; Remrem didn't see much that was kingly about the man, but divinity would manifest itself wherever it saw fit. If Lily believed truly and honestly, and this was going to make her happy and biddable, then it would satisfy him enough. She hadn't been happy since the death of her family. It had made a hole in her heart, no matter how much she had tried to hide it from everyone. He could always see what she really felt. And he knew, as much as it galled him, that this would make her happier than she had been in a long time. When her heart had lifted, they would marry and could retire away from the excesses of court. He could farm and she would raise children. They would live a good life, together. It was just going to take a little longer than he had anticipated.

"You keep staring at me. Ask your question."

Remrem slowly raised his head to look at the prince straight in the face, as bold as any freeborn man would care to. He felt deeply uncomfortable with this. He wasn't ready for this type of freedom, not yet. "Question, prince? Why do you think I have a question?"

"Just ask your question."

Remrem bit his lip, chewing on it in thought. "I was just thinking that you don't seem to be much of a king, prince. You told Lily that you were a great king, but you're a prince needing help from a slave just to get back to your kingdom." He felt a bit bolder. "Like a prince of begging and patches. If you're this great and powerful man, then why do you need to skulk around here? Why did you even come here? Seems to me that they don't want you wherever you came from. They got rid of you. If you were a rightful king or prince or whatever you truly are, why would they not want you? What could possibly be so bad that your own people don't want you?"

The prince came towards him, striding across the dingy room that had been appropriated as a stable. They had been waiting here for a few minutes, even though each minute felt like a lifetime. Remrem was expecting them to be caught at any second, and the proximity to horses made him nervous. The prince was far taller than he, towering a head or so above him. Remrem was squatter and stronger no doubt, but he couldn't defend himself. To raise a hand against a noble man would result in loosing that hand, no matter the circumstances. His dark brown eyes met with the prince's cold blue ones reluctantly. "You ought to be more careful how you address your betters. If I didn't need the help of your woman, I'd cut you down where you stand."

"If it wasn't for my _woman_, I'd be calling the guards to cut you down where you stand. King or prince, criminal or no, it makes no difference to me. The only thing that matters is you keep that _woman_ safe. Don't let her get hurt. Don't cast her aside the instant you get what you want from here. You bring her home, back to me, back to where she must be."

"Or else what? How exactly will you keep me to this demand? How will you keep your woman safe, when she has so readily come to me?" The prince's face broke into an arrogant smile that would better befit a snake. Remrem felt a great surge of hatred and bile inside him, such as he had never experience before. This was ridiculous! This was treason and nonsense and letting Lily run away straight into danger. He was not going to allow this. A good solid punch in his smug face…

"Oh, thank the gods, you managed to get out the temple and find the stables. I just ran straight across the courtyard, and I thought for sure we had all been discovered." The slim figure of Lily was silhouetted against the doorway and she crept inside, sweeping a cursory glance behind her. Her gait was hampered by a stuffed bag, her arms carrying her beloved lute, and her shawl was wrapped about her head, hiding her hair, as if she were a Bedouin maiden. As she came closer, Remrem cried out.

"What happened to your face? Hapi's teats, what happened to your face?" His rough hands grabbed her face, pulling her in for a closer look. Dozens of cuts were littered across her face and arms, some clotted, some still bleeding sluggishly; one particularly bad one had sliced part of her left nostril clean away, leaving an angry red wound. She pushed him away, and dabbed at her face with her shawl.

"It's nothing serious, don't worry yourself. Isis did not react well to me taking these." She said shortly, pulling out a heavy gold chain decorated with even sized river stones. Nothing especially important, he thought, but the prince's eyes lit up as he saw them, greedy and gleeful as a child.

"They look so ordinary," he breathed, and then paused. "You brought your lute. We're running cross country through military lines, and you're going to be lugging that with you. No. You're not bringing it."

"I'm not leaving it behind. Horus gave me it on my eighteenth name day. It's precious to me." Lily's voice set firm, brushing past Remrem to stand by her prince and master as if he were the only other person in the room.

"Military lines."

"I've made up my mind now. Rem will tell you; once I've made up my mind, you have no other choice but to accept it." She gave her familiar one-shouldered shrug. "Why else do you think I'm here, after what happened to me tonight? We have forty minutes before she wakes and alerts the guards. We must leave now. Kratas is on guard duty tonight. If we send Remrem out to fetch him, he should be here in ten minutes. We can have a chariot set up in five minutes." The two of them were stood together, heads close, whispering plans, in a familiar way that infuriated Remrem. He could leave now. He could grab Lily forcibly, throw her over a shoulder and shake this madness out of her. As soon as the thought occurred it was dismissed. He could never do that. She had placed her trust in him, and no matter how much he found this situation to be repulsive, he would never betray her. Not in any way. Not ever.

"A chariot? No, far too slow. To get to that ferry ahead of any forces sent after us, we'll ride. Where do you keep the saddles?" The prince strode out to the stalls, hesitating for a second, before reaching out to a fine black stallion. The reigns were close by, and he seemed to have a familiarity to the beasts as he worked the leather straps about the horse's head.

"Saddle?" Lily wrinkled her nose, making the clot crack and a few dull crimson drops escaped down the curve of her lip. "What is a saddle? Come on, we're wasting time! I know the chariot we need; a small one, unimpressive and old, so we won't be noticed."

"It's strange, that your culture has such a love of horses but never bothered to try and ride them. Primitive." The prince said, moving into the stall and out of sight.

"Not that primitive. Just content." Lily countered, smiling widely.

"Stagnant then. I can ride with just a belly band and no stirrups. Not a pleasant means of riding, but it'll have to do." His voice echoed oddly in the stone room, and the horses flicked their ears, distressed. "Someone must ride these horses, why don't you travel on horseback as a matter of course?"

"It is unseemly to sit on their backs. It's barbaric, more fit for those who live outside civilisation – Set's festering rectum!" Remrem cried out, a quaver of fear infusing his voice to his shame. Lily breathed in sharply, her eyes wide with fear, but she did not move. In front of them, the prince rode out, sat squarely on the back of the black stallion, as if he had become some monstrous combination of man and beast. The people of Kemet had a great respect for horses, but they had a terrible instinctive fear of them, preferring to shy away and leave Cushite slaves to care for them. Remrem felt sick with terror to his stomach, wanting to vomit and run. This was sick and unnatural.

"I'm guessing you won't be able to ride on your own. Come, give me your arm. You can ride behind me." The prince held down his arm to Lily, who hesitated, her wide eyes flitting to the bared teeth of the stallion, as if he would sink his fangs into her bare flesh. Then making up her mind, she reached up to Remrem and kissed him fully on the mouth, the blood from her wounds sticking slightly to his face, her lips soft and salty. She broke away, hitching her dress up around her upper thighs and grabbed the extended arm of the prince, who pulled her up onto the back of the stallion. It whined slightly from the pressure of two bodies, and she flinched slightly, one pale lag over each side of the animal, the vulnerable flesh of her thighs exposed. Lily looked back at the stricken figure of Remrem, and then the prince dug his heels into the animal's side, making it start with a jolt. Remrem flung himself back, away from the monstrosity in front of him, only to watch as his betrothed was flung at another man, her arms round his middle, as they rode off into a desert night.


	18. Chapter 18

Her heart was pounding so fast and so hard in her chest she felt like it might shatter. Lily felt exposed sat like this on the back of an animal, but there was something exquisitely liberating about this. It felt odd, and her legs were starting to cramp in the position where they had settled but now a chariot or a litter carried by horses appeared far too restrictive; on horseback, she felt like her body had become an extension of the animal, free to go wherever she wanted to go. She had often dreamed as a child of being able to fly – this seemed to be the closest any person could get. She stretched her arms out, but the horse jolted awkwardly, almost sending her to the ground if she hadn't grabbed at Prince Loki's back at the last second. He grunted with annoyance.

"Sorry, I'm not used to this. It's so strange, it's almost like floating. Like being a godbird." She said wistfully, looking at her feet passing above the dark sands as if she were truly flying.

"Be quiet." He hissed, pulling himself forwards slightly.

Lily sunk back, feeling abashed for her jollity. She had broken free, had she not the right to feel a little giddy? Unless that was just blood loss. Her face felt sticky, with alternating patches of dry and wet blood, clinging uncomfortably to her skin. The dozens and dozens of shallow cuts felt more like cat scratches, itching and stinging at the same time. The slice on her nose was the worst. She couldn't even bring herself to touch the wound, recoiling inside at the thought. She would just have to cover it with her shawl and wash it when she could, praying that it wouldn't mortify. She looked around her, at the night landscape, with an addled thought to preserve the look of things. This was the land she loved – who know when she would return? She saw something glint in the near distance and squinted at it before comprehension cleared her head.

"Be careful, my lord. A guard is coming towards us." Lily whispered. "I can't quite recognise… oh!" She recognised who it was when the rugged face loomed towards them through the darkness. Her nerves had been fully exercised tonight, she doubted they could stand any more strain. "It's Kratas on watch. He'll let us by."

"Your face is fine this evening, my lady Lily. What nonsense are you up to?" Kratas's common face was about level with her waist, as his eyes took in the whole scene. The battle must be going well, if the guards were placed so few and far between. He had been stationed by a small campfire, and he seemed quite drowsy, a jar of beer in the hand not holding a spear. He seemed perfectly amiable, and she noticed that he seemed to ignore the bizarre sight of people on a horse to fully admire how exposed her legs were. His eyes darkened somewhat, and he swallowed, staring fully at her upper thighs.

"We've been sent to talk with Lady Sekhmet. The Divine Queen Isis greatly wishes to know how she progresses." It was the most awful lie and Lily regretted it the instant it flew out her mouth. He would never believe it. If Isis wanted news from the front, she would get a message sent by bird after the battle was done. It was far too risky to send a messenger into the midst of the fighting and she certainly wouldn't send a personal slave and a high-born foreign prince.

Kratas's brow furrowed. "What? She's sending you, a slim little handmaiden, into a battlefield with no defensive guard, just some man as slender as a woman? Lily, please, don't lie to me. You're trying to break out of the temple and scamper off into the desert, and as much as I adore you I can't let you run out."

"Kratas, please –" Lily began, but to her horror Kratas shook his head, his face serious. He raised his spear to signal to another sentry, whistling loudly as he did so. He was calling for help to accompany them back to the temple. It was all ruined, but for one dunderheaded soldier. What could she do? Before she could start to panic, a thought came to her. She felt eerily calm, her mind clear, body numb, as if she was entirely detached from the situation. She reached out a hand, calm and cool and composed, to stroke Kratas's face, his broad honest face, cupped his chin, pulled him closer, and leant down and kissed him. Their noses bumped together, his eyes wide open with surprise but he did not pull away. Well, at least that was good, but now this seemed like a terrible, terrible idea as Lily had no idea what to do now, and Kratas was enjoying himself far too much for her liking. He was making rather disgusting noises and slobbering all over her mouth. And then he gave a great shudder that rolled all the way down his body and broke away. Lily recoiled, wiping her mouth with her hand and hoping she could spit surreptitiously without offending him.

Not that she really had to worry about insulting him. As she looked back down at him, Kratas fell back to the floor, a dark red stain spreading across his chest. A slim silver dagger had been jabbed through his ribs – a killing wound in any man.

"Are you quite finished? He'll be found soon enough." Loki said sharply. He dug his heels into the sides of the horse and they set off into the night again. She looked back to the dying body of Kratas, a man she had known since childhood, who had long admired her from afar, and found that the guilt she felt was edged with inculpability. He would have stopped them, brought them back to the temple, even with the treat of her attention. It was necessary, she said to herself, as she pushed away the image of his body, sprawled in the sand, leaking blood in a pool around his sprawled body. Lily clutched her arms around the master she had chosen, and hoped the tears would dry quickly.


	19. Chapter 19

"They escaped away on horseback, out to the north. We will not be able to send any scouts until the battle is done and all prisoners are in custody. There are rebels out there who will overwhelm my guards so we must wait. I am deeply sorry, my queen, and I shall lay down my life for being the bearer of such bad news." Nefer, head of the guards, was crouched at the foot of Isis's throne and his chapped lips brushed against the skin of her foot. Isis was near hunched over, the magic unleashed by the words of power curdling her insides with pain. She could barely think straight, the twists and turns of her mind always redirecting her to fresh anger at Lily's betrayal and how it would doom her son – and she had not the energy to be angry anymore. There was nothing she could do anymore. Her cause in life was done. No matter that the battle was won, she had lost her firstborn son. She would need time to heal, before she could summon any energy to think of Harpocrates and the fight he would face. After all, her sister's son Anubis was older and had a claim to both kingdoms – whether men would claim he was Set's son or no. More fighting, more bloodshed; the cycle she had caused was just going to continue to no good end.

"I do not wish for you to be punished for bringing me this news. You are a good and brave man, and I know that you have done your duty to the best of your ability. You can leave my presence unharmed and entire. I bless you." She raised her hand but it shook terribly, and Nefer stared at it, horror-struck. It did not do for a god-queen to show such a sign of weakness. She needed to sleep and to eat and to sleep again.

"Thank you, my queen. I do not wish to distress you further…" Nefer took a deep breath and ploughed on. "I understand that the Princes are fond of a junior guardsman, a man named Kratas. I am afraid that the traitors wounded him most grievously. The doctors do not think he will last the hour, no matter what they do."

Kratas. Isis swum the blurry confines of her mind and stumbled upon a face. A common man, of no good repute or looks, but possessed of a good heart. Somewhat presumptuous, but always had a smile on his face and a cheerful word for those around him. She seemed to remember that he had a fondness for Lily, for cheap women, and honeyed figs, and had a terrible habit of feeding Harpocrates barley pastries when he had half the chance. Not a noble man, but one with courage and good humour.

"Perhaps I shall be able to help, Nefer. Bring me the man, and I shall see what I can possibly do." Isis said primly, a smile she did not feel plastered across her face. Speeding along his journey to the afterlife would surely be classified as a help.

* * *

The line between the barren wastes of sand and the lush fertility of river soil lay upon the land like a road, a clear marking point leading them northwards. The ride was simple enough; the land was flat and pleasant to ride on, aside from the lack of saddle. The worst thing was the heat, as it always had been. Lily had had the foresight to pack her bag with plenty of shawls, and as the sun crawled across the vast, cloudless expanse of sky, she had wrapped one around Loki's head to deflect the worst of it.

"This is how the Bedouin travel; they wrap themselves up in black linen and go about on mules. They are little more than savages, but I think I see them in a different way now. It must difficult to live outside as they do, to live out in a barren waste and thrive…" Lily had tried vainly to chatter on the way she normally did, to joke and flirt and sing, but she had lost all enthusiasm for it after the third hour of riding. She winced and gasped with pain under her breath, her legs soft and unused to the rigours of a hard ride. She fell into a numb silence which was only broken when he prompted her for directions.

"Carry on and follow the Lady Eleni." She had said softly, raising an arm to point at a star that shone by the moon, dark red and foreboding in the sky. "She will lead you straight to Buto, as the story goes."

"The story?" Loki thought to flag up her dwindling spirits; if she were a little brighter, maybe she wouldn't rest against his back, heavy and uncomfortable.

"Oh, it's an old story, back from the Blood King Amenemhet. There was a queen, from a world far away that was hot in the flooding months and bitter cold in the harvest months – the river turned to white stone in the longest month – and she was the most beautiful queen in all of the realms. Men had fought bitterly for the privilege of seeing her smile, and a great tournament was held to see who would win her for a wife. She married the victor and loved him well enough until a handsome prince from a faraway land came to her court. He tried vainly to seduce her, but she would not submit. He swore that he was mad with desire for her and would kidnap her to be his queen in his own kingdom. She feared what would happen; she had seen enough bloodshed to marry her, what horrors would happen to win her back? So she got a brave slave girl to take her place, and ran away to the temple sisters at Buto. She waited ten long years for the battle to win her back to end, and to bid her goodbye, the gods placed a star to burn in the sky to mark her suffering. They had cursed her with the beauty in the first place, so I guess they were feeling a bit sheepish." She sounded as if some of her usual vigour had returned, and she sat up straight again.

"Rivers turning to white stone – you mentioned that to me when you pledged your loyalty to my cause. Does the idea fascinate you?"

"We are all children of the Mother River. I could swim before I could walk, and I have rarely gone a day without being in the waters. I find it utterly impossible that any magic made by men could stop the waters. I can't imagine it at all – so I want to see it. I want to see impossible things." Lily sighed. "Everything in the kingdom is so old. There is never anything new here. Everything must stay the same, it is how we respect the gods, or so they say. But you say you are a god, and you do nothing but disrupt how things are done."

"A country where nothing ever changes… is that part of the inherent desire to live forever? To preserve everything in the wish to achieve immortality?"

"It's not about immortality. It's about memory. If you are remembered, you only die once and your spirit can exist forever. We still talk of kings and warriors dead for thousands of years; as each word of them passes our lips, we keep them alive. If they are forgotten, then they fade away as if they never existed. That's the biggest fear of all. The second death." Her voice broke off, and she became quiet for the rest of the morning.

They travelled in an uneasy silence, Loki's sharp eyes seeing the scars of war upon the land. They passed through plenty of small villages, and crossroad hamlets but they were entirely devoid of life. Their path did not cross with another living creature, save for some lizards basking in the sun, or the occasional flutter of a waterbird or pigeon. Field and plough lay abandoned, as if their owners had run and fled from the army marching southwards. The people probably had, for there was precious little for them to come back to; the soldiers had stolen everything not hidden or locked away, and slaughtered all the beasts in the field. When the sun reached the height of its arc across the sky, when Lily swore that they should seek shade before their brains became addled in the heat, they had dismounted in a small town, empty and barren, half the homes and shops damaged beyond use by fire. The pair sought shelter in the grandest house, situated by a large square made of bright patterned tiles. It had the lucky privilege of being built from bright white marble, rather than the shambolic mudbrick of its neighbours. There was a fountain and shallow pool in the centre of the house in a shady courtyard, and he gratefully splashed his face with cool water, pouring it over his head and enjoying the trickles that ran down his neck.

"I know the man who lives here; he used to work on the trade routes my father owned. Meren. They will have all left before the soldiers arrived, or at least I hope for their sakes. The soldier's sakes that is, do you see what they have done?" Lily had refilled the water skins, cleaned the wounds on her face, before sitting under a pomegranate tree and starting to strum her lute absentmindedly. "They have graffitied all the frescos with slogans and very anatomically incorrect drawings. They were Meren's pride and joy. Most half great men squander their fortunes and lusts on young girls – Meren spent his on powders and paints."

"I'll stay here for an hour, and then we'll set off again. See that the horse gets plenty of water, but not enough to make his belly swell. See that he eats something light but with some salt; he was sweating something dreadful, and if he collapses there'll be no hope for us." Loki said to Lily, who raised a single eyebrow, as if to suggest that he dared to order her, before she bowed her head and stood up.

"I shall see to it directly, if it please my lord. I had thought to check the house for incense, or jewels, or perhaps some cloth, so make sure that you do so. The ferryman will not let us cross for kind words or goodwill, or for the sake of honouring a nobleman. He will want payment for his exertions." She gave a bob of curtsey before walking out the room.

She was biddable enough but insolent for a servant. Her mistress had been far too lenient and had not curbed her natural pride. Well, the woman had always been intending to raise the girl to the highest echelons of the nobility, and the prickliness of her nature marked her to be a true aristocrat. Now, if he could only get her to _be quiet_… Loki spent the hour in the merchant's house by himself, enjoying the first true silence that he had found for the entire time he had been in this god-awful realm. No disruptions from a slave wanting to put his boots on for him, chants from hourly prayers, the clomping of sandals across decks, or cries and shouts from a crowd of children. He ate what little food could be found in the sandy kitchens, and enjoyed a meal not made of the worst parts of the animal (such as the neck or tail of the beast) and not saturated in honey or the rancid liquid that they called beer. He drank a great amount of water, and was able to bathe in peace, without the _helpful _ministrations of a tribe of slaves. The people of these kingdoms were so lazy, so pampered, that they let their slaves wash and dry them, while they stood or sat as if they were children, unable to do the simplest of tasks by themselves. It was a short precious hour of privacy, to be savoured over the next day and a half of sticky, uncomfortable travel.

When Loki had finished, he found Lily outside, holding up a heavy water bucket for the horse to drink from. She sang to the animal as she did so, her fears of the animal long since abated. It was a slow song, imbued with sadness and a heaviness of spirit.

_None cometh from thence  
That he may tell us how they fare.  
Lo, no man taketh his goods with him.  
Yea, none returneth again that is gone thither._

"Why so sad, Wadjet? No second thoughts I hope." He stood behind her, and she gave a slight jump and squeal, hand over heart.

"No, no, no second thoughts. I just felt like singing. The horse seemed to like it. He doesn't seem to be too happy." The animal nudged her head with its muzzle, as if in agreement.

"It's been a hard ride. We'll go on foot until dark, give him time to rest and recover. If I push him too hard, he'll drop down dead and it'll be easy for us to be caught before we get to your lands." Loki took the bridle and forced the horse forwards. It gave an annoyed grunt at being pulled away abruptly from the creature feeding it, and headbutted him in the back, demanding more food. "Maybe you ought to sing to him more, get him to leave me alone."

Lily walked alongside, limping slightly with each step, her gait suggesting that she had saddle sores on her backside and thighs. She did not complain, just walked with an odd waddle to avoid rubbing them. "Sing some more? I know plenty of songs fit for the ears of horses but not for the ears of a prince."

"Foul, are they? Full of lechery?"

"Lechery most vile. I only seem to know songs about prostitutes, or naughty slave girls, or rude lords… nothing very fine or tuneful. I could give a few verses of 'The Monkey and Donkey' song, but I'm no good at rhyming riddles, and it really needs a large audience, to shout out ideas…" She scrunched up her face in thought before she lit up. "I know one. I think I can remember the words."

_The Mother of us all,_

_ The oldest of all,_

_ Hard,_

_ Splendid as rock,_

_ Whatever there is that of the land,_

_ It is she_

_ Who nourishes it,_

_ It is the Earth that I sing_

_ Wherever you are_

_ Howsoever you come_

_ Across her sacred ground_

_ You of the seas,_

_ You that fly,_

_ It is she,_

_ Who nourishes you,_

_ She, _

_ Out of her treasures_

_ Beautiful children_

_ Beautiful harvests_

_ Are achieved from you_

_ The giving of life itself_

_ The raking of it back_

_ To or from_

_ Any man_

_ Are yours_

Like the previous snatched verse, the song had a low and haunting melody. It was beautiful, in a strange scratchy manner – Lily did not have the strongest or most tuneful of singing voices – able to give off a sense of peace and equilibrium. As she finished the last warbled note, she blinked furiously, covering her eyes with her wrist. Sensing her upset, the horse blew fiercely into her ear, rubbing his muzzle into her hair. She gave a spluttered laugh and pushed it away.

"You are sad now. So, answer me. Why so sad Wadjet? Come, you can tell me. Did I not say I would watch out for you?" He had said no such thing but it wouldn't hurt to keep her morale up and her bound to him until the end of this enterprise.

Lily looked up at him, her eyes narrowed, her face shrewd. "I should be sad, for the song is full of sad memories. I have only one memory of my mother when she was whole and alive and she was singing that song. A religious hymn from her native land. The next time I saw her was at the start of the embalming process, when they had found her corpse among the mess of an army barracks. What the jackals had left, the vultures had had their fill of. The image soured all other memory I had of her. I don't even remember what she looked like, so it's silly that it upsets me so. How can I miss something I can't remember?" She gave her customary shrug, as if it were no matter that she had revealed a personal secret to a man she barely knew. "Now, I have sung and entertained you, you ought to do the same."

"I am not known for my singing abilities." He said briskly, increasing his pace. "How many more miles have we to go before we reach the ferry? And I suppose we shall have to sleep outside tonight. What will we do for food? Or shelter?"

"There's fish aplenty in the river and we won't want for shelter. What is your realm like? I guess it's cooler than here, if you can't sleep outside and you wear such ridiculous clothes." Lily peeped around the horse, a reluctant smile on her face.

"What's wrong with what I wear?"

She raised one eyebrow, suggesting more than she was willing to say. "I just find them to be unusual. They say nothing about who you are or what your place in society is. How should men know how to treat you if they cannot tell? When strangers greet me, they know that I have a high status but one with some level of servitude - my dress is only enough to hinder work but my my skirts start at my waist, suggesting that I am not a woman given entirely to leisure. How can you tell the measure of a man - or a woman - otherwise? How do the women dress in your kingdom? Are they covered from head to toe like Bedouin women? Or do they wear long breech-clouts like you?"

Loki sighed. She was not going to stop pestering him about Asgard. She had an obsession with asking him about himself and about the realm, and he knew, just knew, she would not stop asking him until he answered her incessant questioning. If he talked, at least it would fill in the empty hours until sunset. And so he did. Heavily censored of course (there was no sense in telling her everything), he told her as much as he felt he wanted to about Asgard, and the people, and dress and culture and food and anything else she wanted to know. She wanted to know about how royalty worked in the realm and what he did as a prince. He didn't want to tell her anything, but she had an incessant attitude and a lack of embarrassment about anything. He told her a little of his father's deceit, but was loath to tell her the whole truth. He told her an abbreviated version, focusing on the wrongs of his brother and father, as better to elicit her sympathy.

As they sat around a campfire, made of the scant wood they had been able to find, grilling an enormous carp that gave off vast swathes of thick yellow fat, Lily said with an air of finite understanding, "It would be a lot better for your realm if it were more like the Two Kingdoms. Here, a king chooses which of his heirs is the most worthy, and that is the end of that." She was sat waist-deep in river water, dress about her chest, flecks of skin and dried blood floating on top of the water.

"My father always preferred my brother. It didn't really matter whether I was worthy or not, he was never going to choose me over him."

"But you became a king anyway. That can never be changed. To be a king is to be a king forever. To be a king is to become part of the god-head, to become divine. That can never be taken away from you, it is part of your being now."

"I am a king without a kingdom." Loki stared into the weak flames as they spluttered and sent scraps of ash and sparks into the clear sky. The odd reddish star of Eleni shone above them, brighter than the other points of light around it. Everywhere, in every direction, was pure and utter nothingness, as if they were the last two beings in existence. He entertained for an idle moment simply staying here, in this realm – after all, it was rich and prime for the taking – but that would be stupid. He hated the climate and the people, this backwater realm, where the people were dumb and stuck in the same patterns of behaviour that had been running for thousands of years. He would move on, find better climes and somewhere worthy of his kingship. "But I will find my kingdom when we get to the Bifrost. I'll take it and be a better king than either of them. They will bow to me, in time. You spoke of destiny, and how you could tell that to come here, to walk behind my footsteps, was what the gods had always intended for you. I know that it is my destiny to be the greatest ruler any of the nine realms have ever seen."

* * *

**The myth of the star Eleni is based, of course, on that of Helen of Troy. In Herodotus, he recounts a popular version of the legend where Helen escaped to Egypt for the duration of the Trojan War and welcomed with open arms by a particular temple. The temple where Helen stayed was a popular tourist attraction until at least the time of Cleopatra. **


	20. Chapter 20

They woke early, eating dried bread and fruit before starting on the monotonous ride ahead. Lily rode side-saddle, the insides of her legs inflamed but not infected. She had no qualms with riding near nude, much to Loki's distaste. She was a rather base creature, content to tear the upper half of her dress off to make bindings for her saddle sores and blisters. It didn't make much difference, seeing as it had been cut to expose most of her chest, free for anyone to see and stare at. He would tolerate it for now, while he needed her help.

The journey was much similar to the day before, aside from their improved mood. Despite himself, he found himself laughing occasionally at the songs Lily sung, most of which were incredibly bawdy and inappropriate. At approximately midday, they stopped at an irrigation channel and made the horse drink, and filled the waterskin. They ate the last of the bread and fruit. A roadside shrine had been given a pile of honeycakes, a week old, and he had almost taken them in hunger. But no. If he were to desecrate the shrine, Lily would leave in disgust, and he would be lost. He left the week-old cakes to the flies, as they continued on foot, walking over fields that should have been black with fresh silt, ready to be flooded. The river waters stubbornly remained in their banks, two feet of dried earth keeping the gurgling water at bay. There were a few birds here and there, and some monstrous scaled beasts that Lily had advised to avoid. She had often seen them take a child and drag it under the water.

"Poor things, they can never get to the Eternal Fields that way. The beast eats part of them, and so their body is incomplete. Their shade is doomed to wander eternally. Not even the divinity of the water can save them." She had shook her head sadly, her face darkened by the sun, the wounds on her face still livid and pink.

"Everything here is divine. It's no wonder I could not stay here, there's an abundance of gods." He had joked.

"There is always room for one more, my lord." She had replied, one of her inscrutable sentences. Still now, he could not tell whether she genuinely believed he was a god and whether she had switched her loyalties over to him so easily. Surely, she would not have come this far if she did not… she was a silly, selfish girl, but if she truly believed in him… it was refreshing, to say the least, to have someone follow _him_ slavishly, to make the effort to impress him and entertain him, no matter how false it may be. A king of one slave, far away from any influence or power. It was a small start.

In the late afternoon, when the sun hung low and lazy in the sky, they arrived at the long promised ferry. The city of Buto, and beyond it Behbeit El-Hagar, where the shattered remnants of the Bifrost lay, was a haze across the water, white buildings against green. There was a slight problem.

"Where are all the boats? And the ferryman? There is nothing here but old beerpots and old rope!" Loki kicked one of the winejars, shattering the pottery with the tip of his boot, sending it across the damp building. It was nothing other than a shed made of mud bricks that stank like goat dung. A parchment had been pasted to a wall, but their written language was indecipherable, nothing like the common tongue. Lily peered at it, quietly sounding out the words to herself.

"It says that the boats have been commandeered by the navy, taken for military service. The ferrymen are to go to Buto, or to join the navy. It's dated from a month ago. No one is here, and they won't be coming back for at least… oh, another two weeks, maybe? They'll go to Memphis for the coronation celebrations and stay there until the free wine runs dry." She gave a shrug with more effort, this time using both shoulders.

"And that's all you can say? That'll they'll be gone and now we're trapped here? How do I get across the river now? We're trapped. The only way to go is further north, and then to what? What is there if we carry on walking that way?" He advanced on her, slowly and purposefully, and Lily tried to back away from him unsuccessfully. She leant back against the wall, wringing her hands slightly.

"If we follow the river, we just get out to the sea. The sea leads to barbarian lands. There is no means out of the realm in those countries."

"And so we wait here until your queen comes looking for justice. I'll be safe, I expect. She'll send me back home, to the ire of my father and brother, but she'll have no justice for you, the girl who betrayed her. You'll probably get the same punishment as your mother – thrown out to the army and left to die." He had to scare her. He had to make her afraid of going back to force her to move them on. He was a stranger in a strange land – without her knowledge, he'd never escape. Loki took her hand, gently, to comfort her after the fright, to keep up the illusion that he was the only one who understood, and that she need stay by his side. "Neither of us wants that. Show me across the river, and then to escape the country. You want to see outside of this bare and desolate place, to see the rivers made of white stone – without me, you are stuck here forever."

"What would you have me do? Unless you want to swim across, there is nothing we can do. I don't think I can swim five miles after two days of saddle sores and burst blisters. Can you?" She pulled her shoulder bag closely, unconsciously… and of course, that was the answer. The artefact hidden inside that leather bag. She had refused to let him look at it, and had wrapped it up in those dresses she thought it was a good idea to bring. She said it was dangerous to look on them or leave them unattended. She had taken to holding the bag close to her body, never letting it out of her sight.

"Why not use the five words-" He made to grab for the bag. She flinched slightly, cradling the bag, but he grabbed the strap and made to pull it forcibly from her.

The moment was shattered by tinkling of bells. The two of them froze, Lily cringing against the wall, eyes wide with fear, Loki wrenching the bag from about her neck, as a large reed skiff was sailed into the ferry station. A young peasant girl, entirely nude save for a matching necklace and ankle bracelet, was sailing upon it with a pair of goats. The bells were plaited into the strange braid worn by the children here, and her agate eyes looked at them with an oddly disaffected air. This was a scene she seemed to be immune to already in her young life.

"Gods be with you both." She said, slightly warily, tying up her skiff to the provided pole. She began to pull her goats from it, the two animals starting to cry out in distress and refusing to move.

"I hope I find you well this evening." Lily pulled herself free, straightening her skirt hurriedly. The girl stared openly at her, and smirked at the sight.

"Can you give us this skiff?" Loki cut across and the girl looked up at him now, eyes narrowed.

"You want me to give you my father's skiff? The only means I have of travelling across the river to sell the milk from my goats? The goods of which I receive are my family's sole means of support while the country lies in ruins in the wake of the interests of kings who are far removed from the station in which I reside?" Her words were unexpected, sharper and more intelligent than he could have anticipated.

"What do you want for it?" He asked.

"Your woman's earrings. That horse outside. And that fancy cloak of yours." The girl said quickly. The gold earrings were dropped in her hand, the cloak wrapped about her shoulders and she ran from the room, glee on her face.

As he stepped onto the rickety skiff, which was covered in fresh goat dung and looked as if it would collapse under their combined weight, he couldn't help but wonder if they had made a poor deal.


	21. Chapter 21

Now they had a boat of their own (well, an old skiff that badly needed patching and cleaning before being burnt) they could travel straight out to her home. The ferryman stopped in Buto as a matter of course, but now they could sail straight to the docks owned and maintained by her father. Well, had once been owned by her father. They were hers now.

A mile outside Behbeit El-Hagar, a canal led to the estate of the Mintake house. The building was as grand as a royal palace. It had been built five hundred years ago, to challenge the power of kings themselves, using a stone imported from foreign climes that glowed with a rose coloured light in the evening sun. It was a beautiful building, surrounded with lush and fragrant fruit trees that released thick yellow pollen into the air, long and low, spreading out across the land to dominate it, a permanent stamp of her family's power and prestige. She had strong memories of running around the women's quarters, decorated with vivid images of protective goddesses, decorated with precious stones about their painted necks, bare feet slapping against mosaic tiles, birds with bright plumage and clipped wings screaming at her, and the ceilings gleaming silver. Gold was nothing compared to silver. Gold was the flesh of a god fallen upon the earth, and a common enough bauble. Silver was his bones, and much rarer. The ceilings had been plated with the rare metal, so that everything had an oddly nightly colour. She had such strong memories and expectations that she had forgotten the manner of which the estate had come to her.

As the skiff came to the private dock, the wood smooth through centuries of use, the pair had arrived in the midst of great destruction. The palace of Kamenwati, the legacy of her ancestors, had been near completely razed to the ground. The walls had buckled from a great force being thrown at them, collapsing in scattered circles everywhere, the frescoes reduced to piles of coloured dirt. A few rooms had stayed standing, a few scattered out buildings, and a few parts of the woman's quarters. The ground beneath Lily's feet, as she walked slowly, disbelieving, had rippled into hard ridges, shadows and spaces on the ground where things had fallen. It was a wasteland. Everything that had been here was dead. The trees had been reduced to ashen stumps and no weeds grew in the unattended flower beds. No one had been here since the Bifrost had died, she could tell that. The servants had vanished with her family or had fled when they had the chance, leaving the furniture and accumulated wealth behind them. Not even animals had been here; there were no tracks across the disturbed earth other than her own and Loki's, and an eerily silence weighed down upon her shoulders. This place was death in the land of the living.

In the centre of the complex stood what they had been travelling so long and so hard for – the Bifrost itself. It had been in a room carved from pink granite, and it was expressly forbidden to all. Only her father had been allowed in, although he preferred to avoid it. It was the duty of her family to guard and watch over it, a bridge to other worlds outside the realm, in case gods from beyond chose to send wisdom or visit the Two Kingdoms. It was thought to be nonsense, the stories of old women, but her family had remained vigilant. And now she, Wadjet Mintaka, would be step through and travel to worlds she could never have dreamt off. To be free of the dusty age of this kingdom and step through to new places.

She walked towards it, heart pounding in her ears. It had burst through the granite walls, levelling all that had stood before. All that was left were markings across grey dirt, a textured pattern she had seen replicated in the tiles paths that led throughout the palace. It felt dead, she could feel death in her bones, and she shivered slightly, touching the wounds on her face with her fingertips.

"Why did you never think to use the Bifrost? It was here all this time. Your godly pharaohs could have stepped out into the universe and made a great empire for themselves." Loki crept up behind her, his footsteps silent, his hand alighting on her side. He trod too lightly for a man of his size, walking more like a cat than anything else.

"They were far too comfortable in their place here. This country is like a god-send; why would they look to anything else?" Lily opened the leather bag, pulling out the heavy weights of the five words of power. They had gotten heavier since she had first picked them up and she didn't know how. Maybe they knew what was going to happen. With a great swell of reluctance, she placed them in Loki's cold hand and watched his slender fingers close about them.

"How do they work? Do you have to utter a word, or wave them about your head, or what?" He held them close to his face, his bright eyes examining them with a look she could only describe as predatory.

"I don't know. I held them, and they told me what to do. No, that's not quite right. They did what I needed them to do without me telling them. They did it, through instinct or through magic. I can't tell. They just… knew." They gave an odd sort of glutinous gleam through his white fingers, and she itched to get them back and hold them again.

"Step back, back over there." Loki said rather sharply, pushing her away, back to past the etched markings on the ground. She stumbled over her own feet, going back, falling away and out of the circle. The glow from the stones was growing, as if they knew where they were, shining brightly and making strange shadows fall across the ground. There was a strange feeling in her belly, and she felt as if swarms of insects were roaming around them, emitting a low buzzing roar that was building up in her ears. As she watched, dumbstruck, Loki pulled the chain through his hands, looking at it closely, before snapping the chains in between the stones with a snap that resonated across the desolate site. When the chain snapped, sending gold links shedding to the floor, the buzzing grew even louder, a painful demanding scream in her ears. She covered them up with the heels of her hands, but the noise could not be drowned out, drilling into her head and into her bones until she felt like screaming out, over and over and over, only to hide the noise inside. Loki held the five stones in one hand, and before her unbelieving eyes, he duplicated himself five times around the circle, each figure of himself holding one of the words. Lily half-dropped to the ground, her mind swimming with fear and terror and a sense of religious awe. Had not the god Ptah made himself? Had he not made all by speaking it into existence? This was more than magic, this was more than tricks, this was the work of a god, a miracle come to life in front of her, and she had no idea how to react. She could only hover by the ground, neither on her knees or crouching down, too scared, too awestruck to move. And then the sky above them cracked open.

The once brilliant blue, the colour of water, the colour of sapphires, had turned a fearful grey above where the two of them stood. All of a sudden, beams of light like a finger of some wrathful god stretching out to reprimand them, striking the ground and making it shudder dreadfully, vibrations travelling all the way up Lily's body, shaking all the way out to the tips of her hair. A tempest was forming in the sky, a swirling maelstrom of light and colour as big as the house that had once stood here, and it struck down again, making a more solid shaft that seemed to eat into the earth. In the centre of it stood Loki, unmoved and unimpressed by this work of gods that happened around him. He looked up at the broken sky above him, his face impassive. Was it the real him? Lily couldn't tell anymore, she couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't anymore. Maybe this was all some dream implanted in her mind and she would wake up in a cold sweat back in her couch, in her place by Isis's bed. There were six of him now, five standing around the circle on the ground, the single stone held in a hand ricocheting light up into the sky. The one in the centre started to dissipate around the edges, sand being swept up by a brisk wind, and she realised that she was being left behind. He had used her to get what he wanted, just another in a long line of people who had wanted one thing or the other from her. Her inner well of anger, a simmering cauldron that had gotten her through many years, bubbled over the fear and the reverence.

Loki's stoic face turned to her, mouth slightly agape, as she pushed herself forwards, casting aside the figures of the prince which flickered to the touch, and stood in the midst of it all, both feet planted firmly on the ground.

"You swore you would take me with you. I'm making sure you keep up your side of the bargain!" Lily shouted over the roaring around them, heart thudding and skittering around inside her chest, anger hot in her cheeks.

"Are you not afraid?" He shouted back, making a swift recovery as if he had always intended to keep her promise.

"I'm not afraid of anything. I'm not afraid of collecting what I'm owed." She answered, her voice barely cracking above the noise of the sky, her head starting to spin, her eyes unable to focus on anything around them. Everything outside of the circle seemed ethereal, as if it wasn't really there anymore, and it hurt to try and hold something in her vision.

"Well, you shall be truly free."


	22. Chapter 22

And she was truly free.

She could see now what had been wrong before. She could see it all so clearly. She had wanted that which was not hers to have. She had been born to be ruled, that was the truth of it. She had been so unhappy because she had too much freedom. Lily had come to accept that she would always get what she wanted, so when rules and restrictions had been put in place it was obvious she would rebel. There was nothing she could do about it. It had been her destiny, and she had resigned herself to it through the long, long year. And what a year it had been.

Her eyes had been opened to the wide wonders of the universe. She had seen things she never could have imagined, experienced things far beyond the stretches of her simple mind, and she had learnt more about the truth of herself then she ever could have in the petty culture of Kemet. Her body was being purified through suffering, like the religious men of old. The wounds of her face healed cleanly, but she could feel the ridges of scars across her cheeks and nose, marks of pain and honour. Her body wasted away, growing thin, the flesh melting away from her bones until her dresses hung loose and she had to squirrel away free time to change them into a more sensible shirt and breeches. She supposed she ought to eat more, but it didn't really seem to matter that much. She could never tell when she ought to anymore, seeing as the days and the nights blurred into each other and she lost all sense of time. That didn't really matter anymore either. What time did she need to herself? She had put aside selfish desires and dedicated herself wholly to serving her new master.

At first, Lily had felt a grudging resentment for having to dedicate herself to him entirely but she could appreciate now how she could be improved by serving him. Inside, she could feel satisfied that he needed her. Like any other master, he would be entirely lost without his slave. It was a step down from her previous role, but this was improving her soul. There was not much difference in fundamentals, really. It all boiled down to looking after a master, and she'd been doing that since she was four. Loki expected different things from her, that was true, but when she made mistakes he always corrected her as was needed. And she did make a lot of mistakes.

He was destined to become a great king. She could see it, anyone could see it. A great king to best his father and brother, to rival the great kings of old Kemet, a man who could shape a country to his will and desires. The only trouble was that he had no country to claim. There was nowhere that would take him. Small, petty minded people who were blinded to greatness. The pair of them lived as the Bedouin, travelling across endless, countless territories, kingdoms, countries, realms, sometimes fleeing in the cover of dark, always moving under a cloud of shame and anger. They slept and ate whenever they could spare the time. Lily made sure that Loki slept and ate regularly, like he was her charge. She often stayed awake, always finding something else to do, just in case he set some task for her. Well, she tried, she really tried. But at some point in the night or the day or whatever time it was under a strange sun and moon, she would drop to the ground, lost in a dead sleep. She would dream of lush green waters, glowing with phosphorus under a clear indigo sky, heavy moisture thick air that was thick with flower scent, wind carrying a twist of sharp, clean sand… the dreams always ended violently, for Loki would be shaking her awake and commanding her to the next task, the next day, the next journey. She would wipe her cheeks and ignore the stab of homesickness.

The pair rubbed along quite well, at least, in her opinion. She had been trained in the art of conversation, so she could strike up a discussion on any subject and follow it carefully. She might not know of the people of which he talked, or the places, or the deeds, but she could follow well enough, even with her mediocre mind. He often preferred to sit on his own, snapping at the intrusion of her presence, so she spent much time with no other company than her own mind. That was the only thing she really disliked, the introspection of it all. It was all she could so to stop the screams from forcing their way up her throat. She had seen a lot of things, things she would never wish on anyone else.

He was waiting for something, and one morning the gods called down to him. Destiny had struck. It had been like any other morning (if it was truly morning). Lily had been some way from where they had camped. She prayed in the mornings. She prayed a lot more than she ever had at home. It was true that she lived her life in the shadow of a living god, but she felt a constant unpleasant need for the sympathy and love of the gods at home. They didn't make such demands of her. She had been offering benefaction to Amon, king of the gods and protector of Pharaoh, when her shoulder was shaken roughly and she was pulled up to her feet.

"I was just asking the gods to cast their indulgence on you, their most blessed son." She said quickly, looking up into his face, his mood inscrutable. He often got furious with her if he found her praying. He was her only god now and it was right for him to be angry with her. His cold blue eyes fixed on hers and gave a curt nod.

"Very well. Gather your belongings, we're leaving." He dropped her, striding out. She hadn't much to carry, not anymore, so scampered along behind him, two steps to each one of his strides, anxious to keep up with him as any dog.

"My lord, where are we going? What has happened?" She struggled to keep up with him.

"I… I know where I must go. There is something, something on Midgard –"

"Where is that?"

"That is the realm of humans-"

"What type of animal are they?"

Loki stopped suddenly, so she almost walked right into him. He turned to her, and reached out to squeeze her chin slightly. "It's much better when you don't ask questions. Keep your dignity and keep your silence."

Her mouth opened a fraction then snapped shut. She gave a bow of her head, pulling her shawl tight around her shoulders and chest. Travelling between places was billowy and cold. She did not enjoy it much.


	23. Chapter 23

Where they arrived was a land of cold and shadows. Setting foot there was like plunging into a pool of cold water. Lily, with her thin blood, felt the cold seep through her skin, through her flesh, right into her bones. Her blood was chilled and seemed to flow sluggishly in her veins. Her thin linen clothing couldn't keep the chill out, as her flesh goosepimpled and her teeth chattered together. She followed Loki, eyes wide, staring out at all around her. It was so strange and alien here. Long shadows crawled across the ground, ready to grab at ankles, at the trailing edge of a skirt, and she felt that she was being silently watched by hundreds of hidden eyes. She wanted to say how much she disliked this place, but knew that Loki valued her silence. And so she kept her mouth shut.

Loki seemed to know what he was doing, as he spoke to one of the dreadful creatures, and then was swept off into another room… if they could even be called rooms. They were made to open out into what she hazarded to call the sky. It made her very uncomfortable. Everything made her uncomfortable. She felt constantly on edge. She could barely bring herself to look at the creatures who lived here, finding them truly disgusting, her belly constantly knotting and turning.

Lily was left alone, kneeling on the floor, in a room which echoed oddly, sounds from nowhere travelling around and seeming to converge around her. The cold stone of the floor began to bite into her knees and shins, her muscles starting to cramp. She couldn't tell how much time was passing; she could have been waiting, alone in the dark, for hours, but it might have been minutes. How many hours had she spent, contemplating in silence, waiting for orders from a master? Despite the increasing pain in her legs, she felt peaceful, able to concentrate on something else other than all that made her distressed. This was her purpose, this was what she had always meant to do. this was right, this was freedom.

Lily waited in silence until Loki returned, almost sweeping past her as she struggled to get up. Her muscles had gone into cramp and she staggered back, scrabbling with her fingernails at the wall.

"Get up." Loki said with a snap that crackled in the air as she eventually managed to stand, walking with a slight limp, as she trailed after him, through countless empty rooms, past grinning creatures and she had never felt further away from home. The pair were led to a dark suite of rooms that frankly, she would not have assigned to a dog. The rooms were gloomy and chilly, with few items of real worth. They were not impressive in the slightest.

"You ought to be assigned into the best guest rooms." Lily hissed to Loki, tightening her shawl around her neck, her eyes looking around the room.

"This is what I've been given. I'm not going to be here long. I'm sure that you can make them comfortable enough for my stay." He replied in an undertone, before he turned from her to make polite, clipped conversation with the creature that had led them here. It grinned at her over Loki's shoulder, and Lily shuddered, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. She took a deep breath, and opened her eyes again, forcing a new perspective on herself. She smiled, her false smile of servitude, and got to her usual duties. There would need to be fresh sheets (if there were even beds), braziers with fragrant herbs, fresh water for washing, clean clothes, and food and drink. She could concentrate on these things.

Lily had spent all her life working in palaces, all different kinds, big, small, tiny, isolated, in busy cities… and it didn't matter if she was in an alien one, all the way across the universe, she could find her way around it with her eyes closed. Palaces were built on similar lines, with similar pathways, and she would always find her way around them. Even if, as she explored further, she began to suspect that this was not a palace, not even just a very large building. She couldn't work out what it was, nothing made any sense. A small part of her was saying with increasing regularity that nothing made sense around her anymore, that things were getting worse and worse and worse, and an argument span around the inside of her head that she tried to supress.

Sometimes she just wanted to curl up and scream. She had seen… she had seen things she never wanted to think about or talk about or to have flash when she closed her eyes. But it was getting better, the longer she was away from Kemet. She was starting to forget things, like the feel of sunlight or the taste of food, and that made it easier to live in this state of limbo.

She managed to find her way around relatively easily, anyway. She couldn't quite bring herself to talk to the creatures that she found in her way, and had to resort to pointing at things, or just standing silently until they left her alone. No one offered to help; not the creatures talking to her prince in their rooms, not Loki himself, who sat holding court in the midst of them. She decided to stay busy and avoid him. He could be… troublesome, in situations like this. Well. Not really troublesome, just that he would be bothered by her presence. He could be harsh and even cruel, although she would never willingly admit it. So it was best to be useful and efficient. It was the best for everyone.

The creatures eventually slunk off, some casting Lily a cursory glance of interest. Loki was resting on a couch, his face mulish, deep in thought.

"What is there to eat?" He asked. She hurried over, carrying a plate of greyish looking food. She knelt next to him, her head bowed.

"I… I don't really know what it is. I wouldn't give it as an offering in the Valley of the Jackal. I'm pretty sure I've seen stuff like this being used at building sites." She laughed, the sound strange in these gloomy rooms. "It was the best I could find, I'm sorry." He took the plate anyway, falling into an accustomed silence. She sat on the floor, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of her breeches and numbing her backside and legs, waiting patiently. Some evenings they spent in silence. Other times they talked; well, Loki talked mainly, and she listened carefully and dutifully. He talked mainly of vengeance upon his father and brother, and his desire to show his true worth. That was how she interpreted it anyway.

"I want you to stay in these rooms when I am gone. Don't talk to anyone here, they won't want to listen to your nonsense. They won't find it amusing, not like I do." He shot her a smile that she would have seen as being mocking from anyone else.

"Where are you going, my lord? To Midgard, the world of humans?" He hesitated to reply to Lily's question for a moment, sliding a look around the room as if he were fearful of being overheard by something. "What is it? Are there those cre- people listening in? I can't hear them."

"No, it's not – it doesn't matter. Yes, I'm going to Midgard. They have an artefact from Asgard, an artefact of great power. They think they can control the power it has, its potential. The Chitauri will give me an army to retrieve it. I shall win the Earth and they will take the universe. I will be the king I ought to be. The king I should be. You can stay here," he added negligently, "until I come back here with more accurate information. Would you like to see the Earth, to see the place where I shall build my kingdom?"

"Oh, yes I would. I should like that very much. And they will see the glory of the greatest god of them all, like I do." Once, she would have bitten her tongue rather than be so obsequious to anyone. But now, now she was free, she knew that she was nothing compared to Loki, that her life in the vast minutia of intertwined destinies, really and truly meant nothing unless she gave it in service. And he was pleased with her, she could tell. He gave a genuine smile, one that crinkled the edges of his eyes. He patted the top of her head absent-mindedly, as if she were a dog. Her hair was still relatively short, curling around the tops of her shoulders. She missed the heavy weight of it sometimes, but long hair would probably be too impractical. Besides, it showed her change, her new life. "We both have so much hate for the ones we love." The sentence had slipped out before she could fully digest what she had said. Some small part of her mind had let it loose before her mind could question whether it was even a remotely sensible thing to say.

Loki's hand gripped her hair tightly, pulling on the roots, a reaction lasting a split second before his grip slacked.

"I'm so sorry, it just came out, I wasn't thinking, I'm so sorry-" Lily spluttered, wringing her hands nervously. He hated to be reminded about his family, she knew that, she had been reminded so many times. They had cast him out, they had never wanted him, they had punished him for being a worthy son. It was wrong of her. He would have to remind her again.

Later, he asked her to sing. Her lute was getting incredibly battered. It had been dragged across desert, mountain and bog, and she didn't really know how to repair it. All she could do was straighten the pegs when they got bent and re-string it occasionally. She'd had to resort to using hairs from her own head (it wasn't as if she could just nip down to the market and get some new strings) and they worked… adequately. She wasn't able to tune it perfectly, and to her taste the music sounded a little, well, sour, for lack of a better word, but the instrument was still relatively intact.

"Hzan, hzana, m'taza…" Lily counted herself in, tapping her hand against the belly before she started to play. Loki liked it when she sang. It was something she could do right.


	24. Chapter 24

Lily watched him go, resplendent like a true warrior, a glorious king, her heart swelling with pride. She waited for him to return in the dark and the cold. Life passed numbly and dully without Loki there. She had no other purpose. She sat and waited, her blood slow, her limbs stiff, not really paying attention to what was happening around her. The cr - _people_ were preparing for a war, their preparations familiar and comforting. The busy activities of a people preparing for battle reminded her of her childhood, and it made her feel less homesick. She understood the actions and thought processes of a army and the people that came with it, the forging of weapons, the gathering of supplies, recruiters, the sting of smoke, the smell of animals – true, she did not recognise the weapons they used, the soldiers terrified her and she didn't even think they were animals, but she was clinging to what she could recognise. War was chaos and disaster. War was the place where great warriors could rise and a true king would prove himself. Loki would rise.

He returned in good time, and the people appeared to be pleased. They gave him a staff of great power, and it suited him well. She polished his helmet and saw him leave again, knowing that she would be brought to Earth in good time. Sooner rather than later, she hoped, but she was in no position to make demands. He said he would bring her to Earth and he would do, when he deemed it prudent.

A small snide part of her mind whispered that he would never be able to look after himself without her. She had been picking up after him for a whole year, feeding him, making sure he slept – like Horus, he wouldn't be able to tell head from arse when it came to looking after himself. These were not thoughts she ought to have. They were traitorous, rebellious thoughts that would only result in trouble. She was blessed. She had been chosen. It would not do to revert to her old ways.

She should never have doubted him, for he did take her to Earth. Well, not Loki himself. That would be silly. He had better things to concern himself than the fate of one slave girl. He still sent word for her to come to Earth with the rest of the army, to travel with them to Earth. She would travel with the army that would conduct him to his victory.

And it was beautiful.

She looked out across a vast city, that stretched out as far as her eyes could see, right out towards the horizon, and perhaps even beyond that. A gigantic city, bigger than any she'd seen, crafted from glass and metal. Everything rose up, stretching towards the sun like plants, under an endless blue sky. Thousands of people scurried like ants, tiny black dots at the base of these buildings reaching tall. She had never seen anything like it in her life. It was wondrous. There was so much here, so much new, so much to explore, that she began to tremble with excitement. This was why she had left Kemet – to see worlds beyond her own. And this was one Lily could enjoy. It was warm and bright, and in the distance she could see the glisten of water. She would feel better for a swim in fresh water. This was a land of great prospects (as far as she could tell) and freedom. It could do with more free space, and she would be happier with more fields and tress, but that was easily rectified. It was a land ripe for the plucking.

Lily stood in her worn breeches and borrowed leather boots, standing on the balcony of a building fit for any prince, and felt like she had truly achieved the zenith of her destiny. This was where she should be, this was right, this was where she was always meant to be.

She wilfully ignored the sights of battle happening below her. She was good at denial.

"It's like the end of harvest time." She shouted over to her prince, her voice caught in the wind, her hair whipping out behind her. She felt vibrant and alive; it was a fresh start and new beginning, a rebirth for an entire world.

"What?" Loki was stood, watching over the magic pool on the level below, operated by a human man. The man seemed exactly like anyone from Kemet – paler and plumper than she would generally expect, with strange dark yellow hair, nothing like she thought they would look like. She thought they would be terrible djinns, but they seemed ordinary. A little dumb, but ordinary. Loki didn't turn, watching the battle shrewishly.

"The scouring at harvest time. When the grain is in, and the fields are fallow, the stalks and husks are burnt. It gets rid of the waste that's left, even if it kills the birds and things in the stalks. It purifies the ground, makes it fresh for a new season."

"Burn the Earth, sanctify it with fire, and decrease the lesser species… Wadjet, that is the finest idea you have ever had. I will subject the Earth to fire, and build a new world afresh. When the battle is won and I am king, I'll keep you close by. You can be a helpful thing when you want to be. But…" Loki paused, his eyes tracking one of the great scaled beasts as it sailed by, assailed. "You go inside." He said slowly. "Stay away from open spaces until I come and get you. There are plenty of places to hide. Go. Go!" He pushed her away from him roughly, but on a sudden impulse she flung her arms around his shoulders. She had no idea why she did it. She was not an affectionate woman; it made her rather uncomfortable. But she put her arms around his shoulders, felt the slight chill of the metal, the smell of the leather…

Lily was flung to the ground almost immediately, landing awkwardly on her elbow, that creaked ominously, and on her ankle, which bent painfully. She crawled across the balcony, her legs numb with shock, until she was able to pick herself with the door frame. Loki did not look back once.


	25. Chapter 25

It seemed to Lily that she was wasting her life away with waiting. So many hours had been spent in her life sitting doing nothing. And now she was in a small, stuffy room, sat cross legged on the ground, scratching at the sole of her boot. She didn't like them. They were hot and itchy, and the layers of clothes were making her sweaty. Beads of sweat were rolling down her back, the chill of the sweat making her wriggle as it descended to the small of her back and gathered, making her shirt damp. There was no telling how long she would be there, waiting in the gloom. Better though, than the gloom of Titan. At least she knew that there was sun and sky outside for her to return to. She would never have to wait in the dark again. She was going to rise and rise and never fall again.

The floor shook horribly and she heard an awful, gut-wrenching crash. It sounded like the shattering of stone, and what – what was that? To Lily's horror, she thought she could hear the sound of a monstrous lion. It made her remember, painfully, when the royal court had hunted down a lion famed for being a man-eater. She had been terrified beyond belief, aged seven, and now she felt like that again. Stalked by a giant beast, an eater of men, hunting, prowling, waiting outside for her, sitting on its haunches outside the door…

Heart pounding she flung open the door and ran wildly outside, her mind racing with panic. The entire building was shaking, the floor vibrating underneath her feet, and all she could hear was the clashing sounds of war – but so alien from what she was used to. Cursing her own fear, she ran out, ran wildly, not thinking where she was going, stumbling over her feet and over wreckage. She ran blindly, just searching for something she recognised, or someone to take her away. She ran until she realised she was heading towards a broken window, and stopped in time, hands on the window frame. The road seemed to stretch out miles below, and the wind pulled and sucked at her body, as if urging her to jump.

"What are you doing?" It was a man's voice behind her, she thought, but she didn't turn round. She didn't want to. "Who are you? Did you come through the portal? The battle's over –"

"Is my lord captured then?" Lily said blandly, shifting her foot on the ledge. Shards of clear glass fell, cascading down to the smoking wreckage below, invisible in the air.

"Your _what_? Come with me now. Come on."

"But he said it was my fate. It was my fate to follow him. If he is captured, what do I do?" She said to the air, the panic and fear subsiding as a new, sharper thought began to take hold.

"Look, there's one way out, and it's with me-"

"Oh, there's always a way out." Lily smiled to herself and let herself fall forwards into empty space. Her breeches fluttered about her legs as they spun up above her head, and feeling the cushion of air below her, she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable crush of landing.


	26. Chapter 26

The Underworld was drier than she expected. Her tongue felt twice the size it should be, swelling up and sticking to the roof of her mouth. She thought about that rather than thinking about everything else. There wasn't a part of Lily's body that didn't ache. She felt like an old woman, full of aches and pains and sharp throbs. Her side hurt the worst, as though she had been cut open. It itched and burnt. Maybe she had failed to get through to the Fields. The snake that drooled venom might have gotten her soul, and that could be why her side burnt so. Her shade might have been thrown away, cast out, forced to wander blind and dumb through the blankness that was neither Kemet nor the Fields.

Sometimes she thought she saw things in the darkness. She thought she saw people crowding around her once, strange pale faces, grim and grey. She thought she saw an unbearable bright light, brighter than the sun, that stung her eyes and made her try to get away. Hands that she couldn't see had held her down, there were voices, lots of unnaturally loud voices, and something had been forced over her mouth. It had all stopped after that. She saw a white room the most, an odd white room. It didn't look like anything she'd ever seen before. She hadn't thought she was that imaginative. But mostly she dreamt.

She dreamt of being back home. She dreamt of her mother, but the image was faded with time, so she appeared as a vague outline in a white dress with long hair the colour of wild savannah grasses. The image of her mother would change and morph into the smiling, familiar face of Isis who would hold out her arms for her. Then her face would change, becoming furious and vicious, and she would scream and slash at her. She dreamt of her father; not the empty man she had known, but the man he had been before she was born. Kind and gentle hearted, handsome and carefree, a man who could marry a slave and not care what anyone thought. But he would always dissolve away, leaving her brothers behind, her sisters, their mothers, who would rush at her and pull her into pieces like carrion birds. Osiris would float down the river, his body hacked into bloody segments, his eyes staring at her accusingly. She would scream for help, from somebody, anybody, but she was always alone. No one came to save her, not even the god she had pledged to. The dreams involving him were always dark and full of pain. No one helped her, the selfish girl. And so they pulled and cut and hacked away at her, and Lily knew that this was outside of paradise, outside of the love of the gods, that she was cursed. She had let them down. She let them all down.

The sound of rain woke her unexpectedly on a dreary afternoon. Her spirit had heard it, from the nightmare it was caught it, and the sound had brought it back forcefully – painfully – back into the battered shell of her body. She woke with a jolt, her eyes bursting open, and everything hurt even more. Her vision had a grittiness around the edges and she couldn't focus very well, but here she lay, in the white room from her dreams. Metal boxes around her beeped, flashing with unnatural lights. She was laid in a metal bed with white, scratchy sheets, her head leaning against an overstuffed cushion. There was a window of glass, looking out onto a grey sky, and to Lily's amazement, rivulets of rain ran down the glass. She had never seen rain like that before, forceful and miserable. She tried to turn over, to get up and look out, but her side screamed in agony, and one arm was locked to the side of the bed in a metal shackle that pinched her wrist. Her nose hurt, and as she reached up gingerly to touch her face, she felt a strange tube wrapped around her head. As she felt with a sort of disgusted curiosity, it led right up into her nose. She was covered in them, going into her arms and leading off into the pile of metal boxes. She was confused and in pain. And the dress she had on was itchy. And she needed a drink.

"Oh, you've woken up then." A woman came into the room, wearing a tunic and breeches that were far too small for her. She smiled at Lily but it did not reach her eyes which watched her warily, as if she might spring up and bite. "How are you feeling? Are you in too much pain, is that it? If you're in pain, just touch this button here. It'll increase the dosage of your pain medication." The woman touched something next to Lily's hand.

"May I have something to drink?" It came out as more of a croak, unrecognisable to herself, but the woman nodded. "Where am I? What have you done to me?"

"Just drink your water. Do you need to use the restroom?" The cup had a straw helpfully provided, even if it did float around in the water. It tasted unpleasant, and the chill of it made her teeth throb.

"The what room?"

"The toilet. Do you want the toilet? I'll help you across there if you do, though I can't imagine it'd be a pleasant experience." The woman had a very forthright attitude as she checked the metal machines, and adjusted the various tubes and wires that were connected to various parts of Lily.

"Oh, right. Yes, I do. Help me up." She held out an arm and the woman, unlocking the manacle, put an arm about her waist, pulling her up to her feet, where she swayed, unsteady and unsure. She felt like an infant just learning to walk and it was embarrassing to be lowered onto the waterstool by a stranger.

"I'll be just outside the door. If you need me, just give a shout. I'll come through to help you." The woman gave that cheerless smile and shut the door. The room was small and smelt… well, the best means of describing it would be that it smelt like the water. The light brazier was fixed onto the ceiling and it gave off a strong yellow light. It buzzed as if it were full of insects. She didn't like it. She sat down for her abolutions, and her body shook like a dog's. Her reflection stared back at her. Two shining black eyes stared back at her, the scars on her face vivid and red. She thought they had healed months ago. Standing up, she almost cried aloud for pain, but fell forwards and squeezed the basin, biting her lip so fiercely she drew blood. Slowly, carefully, she pulled up the tunic to look at her side. There were thick white bandages, but she picked at them with her fingernails, tearing them away from her belly.

The flesh underneath was raw and enflamed, held together with thick black sutures that ate into her. That would be why she kept dreaming of being cut open then. She had been. She could only hope they had said the correct prayers and incantations over the wound. She stroked the stitches softly with a finger. The edge of the wound stung slightly from the heat of her fingertip and she winced. It felt too real to be another bizarre dream sequence.

"Are you okay in there – what have you done to your bandages? If you pick at it, it'll just get infected you know!" The helping woman, the nurse as Lily now knew, came into the small room, and her words came with force of a slap. Ah, yes, now she could recognise her as a medicine woman. She half-pushed, half-carried Lily back to her bed and made a huge fuss about wrapping the wound up again. She did not pray for the red dogs of mortification to stay away, something that made Lily very uneasy. She had seen infected wounds before and did not want to die from blood poisoning. It was not a nice way to die.

"I've got your lunch all ready, if you think you can handle it." The nurse said, having finished with her fussing. "You've been out of it for about three days, although I daresay you needed it after the surgery."

"What happened? Where am I?" Lily spoke with her cheeks stuffed to bursting. She couldn't really remember the last time she had properly eaten. The food was nothing, bland and tasteless, lacking any sweetness in the meat and there was not one single onion on the plate. It was delicious, none the less, and she had tried to eat it all at once. "I can't really remember what happened. I remember… falling, the wind in my hair and then pain."

"You're in the SHIELD prisoner hospital. You're going to be arrested for being an accomplice to the war criminal Loki. When the battle of New York was done, you leapt from Stark Tower. It should have killed you, but you were lucky." The nurse's mouth gave an odd little twitch as if she didn't consider it be to be very lucky herself. "Lucky for you, you got a million to one chance. You hit a falling Chitari glider before you got very far. It knocked you out, kicked you about it, and basically turned your spleen to mulch. You were found and rushed to emergency surgery. You've been out since they took your spleen out, but you have been drifting for the past day. Agents will come in to question you soon about your involvement." She gave an odd sort of shrug. "They didn't want to arrest you while you were unconscious. I thought such a courtesy was unnecessary."

"I- what? Arrest me? For what? But I didn't do anything! I only did as I was told to by my lord! Where is he? Oh, he is going to be furious with me! I disobeyed him and ran away. What sort of a slave am I? I left him alone… where is he? Is he safe? You've got to take me to him, you've got to bring me to him!" Lily's voice rose, ringing hysterically in her ears, as she tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed while the nurse tried to push her down at the same time.

"Calm down, I said calm down or we'll have to sedate you! Oh, for God's sake, can someone come in here and help me?" The nurse yelled out, as Lily pushed her aside, finally, her side screaming and burning. And then more people came rushing into the room, men, strong men, and something sharp jabbed her. Her vision turned gritty, like she couldn't focus.

When Lily woke up again it was another day, possibly, and there was another woman sat by her bed. This time, she found bother her hands had been shackled, her ankles too. She couldn't even scratch her nose (the thought of which made it instantly itchy).

"What makes a girl like you follow a man like that?" The woman asked her, and Lily knew that it could only be in reference to one man. "What is it? Greed? Hatred? Love?"

"Maybe it is love. My love is the unfurling of a banner in war. My love is the first cry of a newborn infant." They were the first two lines of a 200 verse hymn to the king of the gods, the great god Amun. She served a greater god now.

"Very poetic. Do you really believe it?" The woman's voice was curious, edged with just a hint of pity. Lily tried to look over at her, but her neck cricked before she could reach round to look at her properly. She could only see her profile, and a little of her hair. It was an unnatural red colour, sometimes seen in people from the west. Girls with red hair were eagerly sought out as slaves, she could remember, and Set had kept a large amount of them in his harem.

"Of course I believe it. Why else would I be here? True order can only come from chaos, the teachings of Maat tell us this. For order to come, I must follow chaos to where it may lead. He chose me. I have been chosen." She sank down – well, tried to, it was difficult with the ridiculous cushion. She would give anything for a comfortable wooden headrest to lie down on. Everything was stuffed and scratchy and she was covered in layers and it was all so hot and stuffy. She wanted to be taken out and away. She was tired and hot and in pain. She didn't want to answer this woman's questions or hear her unnecessary pity.

"Why do you believe you were chosen?"

"Why should I answer your questions? My lord will come to take me away –"

"Do you honestly still believe that? You've been here for five days, Miss Doe. He hasn't come to get you or visit you."

Lily frowned, caught off guard. "What? What did you call me? That is not one of my names, you can't call by that name. It is wrong."

"Well, what are your names then?" The woman was bland and inoffensive, never raising her voice or even looking over to Lily. She felt put on the spot, made to feel childish and stupid – she needed to correct that. It was fate that had led her here, and she would let this woman know, and then she would stop asking her questions.

"I can't tell you all of my five names – one of them is secret and known only to the gods. But you may refer to me as Wadjet Mintaka Lanata Isis. Wadjet is my formal title, Mintaka my family name, and Isis is an honorific. I hold Lanata as an infant name until I am married. What is –"

The woman cut her off with a hand gesture, walking to the end of the bed and pulling out some sort of metal scroll from the end of the bed. She began writing on it, the slightest tip of her tongue protruding from her mouth. She was a very good looking woman, even if her skin was of an abnormal colour. She must be a woman of tremendous esteem to hold such an important position. Lily only knew a few women who could write with any proficiency. "Wadjet – Mintaaaka – Lanata – Isis. Glad to finally know your name, Wadjet Mintaka Lanata Isis. We were worrying about what name to put on your arrest warrant. We could hardly put Miss Jane Doe, persons unknown, of planet unknown, on trial for war crimes. It wouldn't look right."

Lily felt herself frown again, feeling slower and stupider by the minute. "I don't understand. What are you trying to say? Why am I in trouble? Where is my lord prince? I demand that you take me to him." She tried to pull her knees up to her chest before she remembered that they were chained to the end of the bed. To add to everything else that had hurt, it felt like she had yanked her ankles out of their sockets now.

"You've been in and out of consciousness for a few days. You're probably a bit groggy, you've been in and out of unconsciousness for five days. Do you have anaesthetics where you come from? We didn't know whether you'd have a reaction or not. The doctors hoped not. Lucky that you didn't, really." The woman's mouth twitched in an almost smile. "I'm sure you're a smart young woman, Wadjet. Try and figure it out before they send in the big guys to put you on trial. Won't make anyone look good if you're on the witness stand and don't understand what's going on."

"Surely you should know I come from the country of the two lands, the nation of Kemet, the green jewel of the desert. I helped Loki escape from there, on his journey to claim what was rightfully his. He must have told you this. He needs me to help him. He is a god, and he chose me to hel-"

The woman's expression told her more than she ever needed to know and her words stuck in her throat. The people, the police here, they had no idea who she was. She was a lost runaway slave on a world where time ran slowly. Her master had abandoned all claim to her. He had not spoken up to retake her, or to protect her. He had forgotten all about her. She was abandoned, a strange woman in a strange land.

"With a speech like that, it won't take much to convict you. The world is desperate for someone to blame. Loki is out of reach –Asgard are taking him back, and that's a long way out of our jurisdiction. Might as well punish you. No one's coming to whisk you away." The woman gave a slight shrug with both shoulders, crossing her arms across her chest. "Some men will probably be here in an hour. They'll let you know of your rights and the charges you'll be facing. Don't worry too much about it – you won't be released from here until you've healed." She turned round to walk from the room.

"Wait! I can't – me, punished? But I haven't done anything, all I did was what I was told!" Lily burst out, trying to pull herself up, shaking the manacles desperately. "Why should I – I don't understand! How can a slave be punished for the actions of their master? You must be lying to me – why would he – I never did anything wrong – he _chose_ me…" Her voice trailed off as she slumped back on the bed, her sudden burst of energy abated. This would all be some hideous dream. It had to be.

"You should calm down. You'll injure yourself if you thrash about." The red-haired woman, who had refused to give her name, leant on the end of the metal bed. Her face was like a mask, unreadable, and perhaps a little cold. "Look, I shouldn't be saying this but…" Her eyes flicked to the door, and the mask dropped for a few seconds, as she chewed slightly on her bottom lip, looking rather troubled. And then her face was blank and expressionless again. "No one is willing to listen to what you saw, to what you know. Everyone here has got a black and white picture of what happened; they only see what they want to see. That's why they're not going to help you. So you've got to help yourself."

"What?" Lily stared at her. The woman gave a slow, almost confidential smile, and sat down on the end of the bed. She made herself comfortable, leaning against the bedpost, a foot hanging down to scuff along the floor.

"I want to help you. I don't think it's fair you'll be locked away for the rest of your life, simply because you made a choice to follow a man –"

"A god."

"- a god as a loyal slave. What kind of a world is it, that you'll be punished for loyalty? You've got to tell someone how you got here. Tell me. Talk to me."

"Oh, I'm not sure that I should do that…" Lily hesitated, rubbing her hands distractedly. What would Loki say if he found out she had been speaking to his enemies? "Will you tell me where my lord is then? So that I might see him?"

"He's already gone. He was taken home this morning." The woman's eyes were full of such pity at her, at her situation, at this wretched loyalty, that Lily began to speak. And she spoke, haltingly at first, wary of a more immediate sort of punishment if she were court, and then the words began to flow out freely, memories long since buried coming to light, secrets she would rather no one knew, until she felt empty inside, her eyes sore from tears.

"But it's all part of being a woman, isn't it?" Lily stared down at her hands, which had been tearing away at tissue paper – paper designed for your eyes! What a bizarre world this was! – while she had been talking. The woman had seen fit to release her hands when she had started crying. "I was told all my childhood that a woman must always go through the world by the side of a man. It is right, it is how we were made by the gods. And so we choose for ourselves the rod for our back, and we carry the burden until the bitter end."

"I thought you were just a slave."

Lily gave her familiar one shouldered shrug, tossing back her head in a gesture she had not done in months. "Woman, slave – what's the difference?"


	27. Chapter 27

The three men smelt. It wasn't particularly noticeable at first, but after you'd been in a room with them for a while, a smell would exude from them that would eat into everything – the walls, the carpets, your clothing. It wasn't unpleasant as such, it was just pervasive. It was a smell that would burrow into your sinuses and remain for a good ten or so years.

The man on the left gave a smile that would look far more natural on a horse – all huge yellow teeth, far more crammed in his mouth than ought to be humanly possible. He was hunched over severely, shoulders level with his stomach, with an Asiatic nose and horsey face. He wore an elaborate wig, set into intricate and tightly woven curls, which looked to be made from human hair. He was draped with gold jewellery and brightly coloured shawls, and wheezed with every breath. He also laughed occasionally without realising he did so, a spiteful giggle that didn't sound especially friendly. He had been introduced as Mehy, one of two grand viziers serving the Pharaoh Horus, Lord of the Two Lands, Prince of the Dawn, and king of the nation of Kemet, having served two Pharaohs before him and twice bearing the Gold of Honour.

The man on the right was reasonably handsome, but his small eyes and beaky nose gave him a rather cruel look. He wore a plain white kilt and gold wristbands, his gold whip of rank tied to a belt round his waist. His arms were crossed over his chest, his arms heavily muscled and scarred. He had been introduced as Hotep, the new slave master of Pharaoh's palaces. He seemed uncomfortable to be sat down in this room, in a chair, and cast suspicious glances about the place, peering into the corners of the room, as if expecting attack from unknown source. Two assistants had come with him, two plain faced middle aged women with their heads covered, but they had not been introduced. They knelt next to him, one on either side, and did not speak a word.

The third man was not introduced. The man was of a middling height, with thick dark hair cut to around his chin. He had a rough sort of face, his nose broken more than once, sitting crookedly. His eyes were far too small for his face. He had politely refused to sit down, and stood waiting by the door, giving off an air of contained strength. He seemed to lurk in the shadows, pacing anxiously.

The people of Kemet knew all about the current situation, although there was a distinct aura of smugness about them. They had pottered about, walking at their own pace, staring about at the small patch of Earth they were able to see. They were unimpressed by what they had seen, faces impassive – apart from Mehy who had wheezed and laughed and pointed at things with a gnarled finger. In between unpleasant jokes about the women around him, Mehy had condescended himself to tell SHIELD that his most exulted and divine majesty, the Pharaoh Horus, had entered into close talks with the kingdom of Asgard. It was a great pain to him; not only to have lost his most beloved father, uncle and aunt to the untimely ruin of civil war, his mother had embroiled herself in a disgusting murder plot and his most beloved cousin had been abducted by a hostile force. He was anxious for her to be brought back forthwith, contrite and humble, freed from the undue influence of a corrupting god.

"His Majesty wishes that this…" Wheeze, wheeze. "…unpleasantness be over as soon as possible." Wheeze. "He wants the face of his most favourite cousin to light up the royal court and to be a sun shining amongst the dullness of those around him." Wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, giggle, unpleasant smile. Mehy was really rather fascinating, in a repellent kind of way. He scratched himself without notice he did so, cleaning out his ears and wiping them on the side of his chair. Natasha felt herself watching him with her mouth slightly open before she shook her head and began to focus on the situation properly again. A higher-level SHIELD agent had been assigned to this side-business to clear it up after Wadjet's tearful confession. It was pointless to blame her for anything Loki had done; interrogating her, Natasha had found her to be a mess of neuroses, religious delusions and fanatical devotion. Her emotions had been manipulated at a time when she was weak, and then had been pulled along, bullied and abused until she couldn't tell up from down or herself from anyone else. It'd be wasteful to bother putting her on trial (if she could even withstand the stress of it), no matter what the higher ups were insisting. The world needed someone to blame, they said. They might as well take her, an accomplice, and use her as a scapegoat.

The emissaries from Kemet arrived at just the right time. Someone had been keeping a keen, if distant, eye on things.

"I hope that His Divine Majesty appreciates how difficult and troublesome we have found this to be. I trust that your nation and people have no designs towards the Earth and its people, especially after recent events." The agent drawled and Mehy frowned, his mouth drooping.

"We would not seek any war or action against this place. It is not in His Majesty's plan to come here, to leave the perfection of our lands… unless you are to deny us the return of Wadjet Mintake, for she is royal property. We are already seeking action against the Asgardian exile for theft and trespass. Do not incur our wrath, for our forces would rain down and scour the land. Our Divine Pharaoh would crush his many enemies underfoot and win a glorious victory, and you would see your youth put to the sword." Mehy's sharp little eyes lost their fire gradually through his speech. "I would advise against this, of course, as a war at this time… would be cruel to wage against your ravaged city." His eyes flicked away, giving away more than he intended. He was in no position to make threats; his nation and the armies she held were weakened by internal warfare. But he was going to attempt great pomp, as befitting a man of his station and prerogative.

"At this point in time, SHIELD are not actively seeking to imprison Wadjet Mintake but –"

The slave master Hotep cleared his throat with a tremendous rumble, sending a roll of energy cascading down his body. Even his muscles had muscles. "Be you assured that she will be adequately punished. Pharaoh is merciful and just. He loves his cousin but remembers her position well. He seeks peace with all realms and will force justice where it is needed. That is why I am here."

"Okay then. Agent Romanoff will take you to her hospital room. We will not interfere in how your nation seeks to deal with her."

There were nods and awkward handshakes and eloquent speeches of gratitude, and then Natasha walked from the room with the shambolic group following her. Hotep marched with her, the unnamed man trod close behind and Mehy limped along last of all, his step helped by the two female servants. They walked in silence (aside from the mutterings of Mehy) for thirty minutes until they reached the hospital wing. They walked for another fifteen minutes, until they reached the room containing Wadjet. She was no longer handcuffed to the bed, now she was no longer a risk to herself or others. She had taken to curling up in a foetal position on the bed, dead to the world.

Hotep rapped on the Plexiglas wall loudly with his knuckles. "Up! Up! Get up you lazy slut! Stand up ready for inspection!"

Wadjet raised her head slightly, then her face blanched with fear, her body tense. Her eyes flicked to the door, trying to gage whether she could run or not. Before she could try to get up and out, the two serving women rushed in, each grabbing an arm and pulling Wadjet roughly to her feet. She tried to struggle, but the women slapped her arms and legs until she stopped resisting. The slaps rang through the small room, sharp to the ears, and leaving stinging red marks. Hotep, humming tunelessly to himself, was handed a wax tablet and a stylus.

"Name – Wadjet Mintake Isis. Age – twenty one. Height – four cubits. Weight – a double heqat I think. She's lost a lot of weight." Hotep sucked air through his teeth, shaking his head. "That's not good. Pinch her muscles for me, see what she's got left."

"Stringy. Not much strength here. No good for household work." The woman on the left replied, her fingers squeezing the muscles until the skin turned an unpleasant purple colour.

"Tch. Well, better see if she'll be any good for a concubine. Got to make a profit on her somehow. Disrobe her."

The two women stripped Wadjet, pinching and slapping her to ensure she didn't complain or refuse, shedding the hospital issue nightgown into a pile on the floor. Wadjet stood nude and shivering, her eyes dead and blank. The two women started walked around her, two black pepperpots marching in a tight circle, poking and muttering at her, assessing every inch of her body. One grabbed her head, and pulled it back, crooked fingers scraping along the scars that criss-crossed over her face. "Her face is damaged. Not pretty."

"Prettiness is not always necessary, Hereset."

The other scraped her hands down her back, all the way down the back of her legs, finally pulling up a foot to examine the sole closely. "Scar tissue. Lots of scar tissue. Unattractive. She looks like she's been through the mill."

Hereset forced Wadjet's mouth open and peered inside her mouth. "She has all her teeth. That's good."

The unnamed woman nodded in agreement. "And all her fingers and toes. Very good."

"But she is far too skinny. No good for a concubine. No good for a mother. No good for a love matron."

"You, woman." Hotep turned to Natasha, stylus in hand. He'd been making precise notes in a cramped hand, written in a language that looked like ancient pictograms. "Do you know if she's been swived?"

"Excuse me?"

"If she's pregnant, she isn't worth much. No man wants to pay for a woman in whelp." Hotep laughed mirthlessly. "I've a good reputation at the slave markets across Kemet. It's why I've got the job at the palace. Can't sell on shoddy merchandise. Well then, what do you think, Heres, Kara?"

The two women made the same face and shook their heads. "No good. No good."

"And her recent history is undesirable. A poor investment indeed. How can I advertise all your fine skills, Wadjet, when you left them all behind to be a harlot? What have you done with them, eh?"

"I have put them away until they are needed. They will keep." Wadjet answered in a tiny voice.

"Hmph. I suppose that is true. But they'll be keeping for a very long time, I should think." Hotep snapped his tablet shut. "I can't sell you on as a lady's maid, not with your past. I can't sell you as a slave wife or concubine or love matron, because your face is disfigured. The best you can hope for is menial work. It won't be in the fields or anything like that – you're not strong enough. No, I'll probably sell you to a weaver, or an embalmer. Rough, unpleasant work, but that's all you deserve, isn't it?"

"Yes sir. I only deserve to be a menial slave and to live my life in poor service."

"Is that what the maat in your heart tells you? Is that the full and proper truth of it? Swear it aloud to be held as testimony to all the gods." Mehy cut in, patting the last unnamed man on the arm absent-mindedly. He had stayed out in the corridor, standing away, keeping his face hidden. "Are you sorry for what you have done? Be you humble to the sins you have committed and fully understand the consequences you have caused?"

"Yes sir. My shade will be cast out to wonder with no home and no hope until the flood of chaos engulfs the entire world again. I was disloyal and deceitful, crimes that destroy the words that create us all. I denied maat and now must be punished." Wadjet tried to say it as emotionlessly as possible, but her chin began to wobble and her voice quavered. Spend more than five minutes with her and you'd be bombarded with her religious beliefs. Had she been so fanatic before she left with Loki or was this a sudden revelation, in order to alleviate her own guilt? It was hard to tell… although seeing as her speech was centred on the importance of the truth; it would imply that she was sincere.

"Good. I've gotten a buyer for you already. He isn't bothered by your disloyal conduct. He was given your lands and dowry by Pharaoh, so you'll be at home at least. Come on in." Hotep gestured for the shadowed man to come into the room and the change in Wadjet's demeanour was astounding. Her face and stance, dead, pathetic, hopeless, changed entirely; her face lit up, her eyes bright and shocked. The man gave a broad beam of a smile and held out his arms wide to wrap around her. She buried herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly, hiding her face in his chest. The two serving women clapped their hands delightedly at the sight, crowing to each other in a language that sounded like squawking birds. Hotep remained stonily impassive but Mehy grinned, showing gums the colour of raw meat.

"She's lucky to have someone willing to take her back - though it doesn't seem to be much of a punishment, being taken back by a man who loves you." Natasha commented, her voice carefully neutral. No matter what she had thought about this whole scene, the inspection of a woman for sale, the return of a young woman to a man who cared for her deeply, the lack of punishment for a criminal much vilified by her own people, it didn't matter. Her own thoughts would be kept deep inside.

Mehy gave a one armed shrug. "We must go by the traditions of our culture. She had admitted the fault and let maat back into her heart. And so, what more can we do? If her heart is heavy with sin, then her shade will suffer endless torment. What more can we do? Her cousin, the Divine Pharaoh, cares for her greatly. They grew up together. He wants to be known as a just and merciful king, and so he will put her judgement in the hands of greater gods than he. She is young. Marriage and motherhood will tame her fires. Unless you will prevent us from taking her, to punish her for another man's crimes?" He gave her a sharp look, as if she had suddenly sprung forwards to separate the couple.

"Like I said, she's lucky someone came forwards to claim her. SHIELD have nothing against your people and your culture. I'm not going to argue morality, or individualistic versus societal constructs. Take her and go."

Mehy gave Natasha one final suspicious look. He was obviously uncomfortable with her but whether it was her intelligence or importance she couldn't tell. It wasn't that important. "Very well. Come, Wadjet, Remrem, we shall be leaving. There are important matters of state I must attend to. We must make our peace with Earth and with Asgard. The world is much greater than we ever thought."


	28. Chapter 28

Wadjet was dressed in a fine gossamer gown of pale pink, dyed from shell fish, the traditional colour for a bride. The colour seemed far too gaudy and bright next to her paled skin. Her makeup was carefully applied; the bright antimony white for the face, the bright blood red for the lips, the solid black and deep blue for the eyes. It looked wrong. Too garish, like a child playing at being the bride. Finally, the golden net for her hair, heavy with golden amulets of protection and good fortune. It hung loose past her shoulders, her hair far too short for it be lie properly. Wadjet had made a face at the weight of it. Everything was wrong. Her bracelets clattered and slid down her arms, the dress hung loosely from her frame instead of clinging to her body. Her face was so thin, Remrem's sisters had had to pack her cheeks with linen scraps to at least make her look like a shadow of herself. It was a hopeless cause. She looked like a corpse, not a bride. It was the best they could do. At least they had covered up those awful scars. They would never do, at this happy time. They were too grim to be shown and were unfortunate reminders of Wadjet's recent past.

The wedding was being held at the old mansion of Kamenwati as was, and now known as the Mansion of the Seven Sisters. It had been extensively rebuilt in the last year. The evidence of Wadjet's treachery had been hidden, replaced with marble floors. Remrem had refurbished it as a family home, seeing to do what he saw fit with his wife's fortune. He had never given up hope she would return home and had done what he could to secure their future together. He had been mocked soundly for his efforts; Remrem the dunderhead, Remrem the fool, Remrem the cuckold. The wedding today would silence his detractors. Well, at least in public.

Wadjet was led silently through the guests who held fragrant palms as a canopy over her head. She walked painfully slowly. Rumours had spread like wildfire that she was seriously injured with a festering wound to the side. Others still said that it had robbed her of the ability to have children, or that she would die within the year. Whatever the truth of the matter, she held her gaze above them all, and out to the waters of the river, where Remrem stood. The canopy was held above the couple, to symbolise the home they would share together. A loaf of corn bread, to show the food and support he would bring, was brought forwards. He held it against Wadjet's lips and she took a bite. She held the crumb in her mouth like a stone. A pot of river water was put in front of them, which Remrem smashed into pieces with his sword, to the cheers of all assembled. The water splashed out across the terrace, and taking his bride by the hand, the two stepped over it and into a new life together. The guests were satisfied by a sumptuous banquet, accompanied by lively music and even livelier dancers. Once the wine was flowing, they stopped noticing that the bride was sat with a stony face, refusing to eat a single morsel. She took a little watered wine, but other than that she seemed detached from the festivities. At one point, a Cushite slavegirl appeared out of nowhere, heading determinedly to the bride, whispering softly in her ear. Wadjet left the terrace immediately. What few guests did notice did not have time to make a comment on this behaviour. A troop of exceedingly energetic dancers had come forwards.

Esho led Wadjet towards the boat house. She did not know what to say to her former friend. A gulf of silence fell between the two women that only stopped when she saw the figure waiting for her in the small room.

Her Divine Majesty, Mistress of the Two Lands, Mistress of the West and The One Who Fills the Sanctuary with Joy, the queen Hathor was stood in the room. The light reflected oddly off her headdress, a large gold sun disc, and jewellery and they sent pinpoints of light dancing across the room. She wore an unusually conservative dress, one that covered her chest and arms, trailing across the floor. Over her belly, the dress had a large black circle, and she cupped it with one hand.

"The stories are true. Do they predict a boy?" Wadjet said shortly, pulling off the heavy bridal net from her hair, not bothering with pleasantries. No matter how far Hathor rose up in the world, Wadjet would never prostrate herself before her. There was too much bad blood between the women for them to ever fully respect each other.

Hathor looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Ah. I see your pride has come back in full measure. I had thought you might have learnt some humility but now you and your husband are free, there's no need for you to bend the knee to anyone. Not even your queen, and mother to the heir of Kemet." She had aged in the past year. The youthful plumpness of her cheeks, the brainless and thoughtless expression of optimism had vanished from her face. She was more refined, more serious, more severe. Seventeen years old and a kingdom to run; was it everything you dreamt for, princess? Is it the great game you imagined?

"You came unannounced to my house in the middle of the night. I merely presumed you wanted to be unrecognised and unannounced. As if this was our girlhood once more. I'm guessing that you are not here to pass on congratulations on my wedding. What do you want?"

"Oh, to have the baby out and healthy, to dance again, and a really big piss." Hathor snorted suddenly with a brief moment of levity. "Horus wanted to confirm that you are fully freed from your slave status and that you have been restored to your rightful status. He hopes that you will travel to court soon, after the scandal has died down." Hathor grinned impishly, looking like her former self. "You have been the talk of the entire country for the past year, and the stories have only gotten worse since your return. I'd almost be jealous, if I didn't find it hilarious. The high and mighty Lady Wadjet, protector of the infant Horus, fights to defend the honour of her mistress against an evil serpent demon. It's a fantastically juicy story. I've had the players perform it at the palace many times; you have to be quite subtle about which story is officially approved, otherwise the populace notice and get quite contrary about it."

"You're making an effort to save me from disgrace? Why would you do that?"

"We can't have any slurs against the name of a governor of Kemet and an advisor on my husband's private council. You hold the lands of our southern border. Your strength and fortitude is essential for the safety of the realm. Your… misbehaviours have shown a whole new universe to us; one that is far stronger and more advanced than we are. We are only as strong as our weakest part." Hathor reached for her necklace and pulled off the pendant. She held it up the gold chain, so that Wadjet could see the design forged upon it. A vulture and a cobra, entwined. "It's the new symbol for the royal house. The two houses at either end of the realm; Nekhbet in the north and now, the house of Wadjet. The two houses which we depend our safety on, the protectors of our realm. Don't let us down, Wadjet. Times are changing. We have to change with them. We all have a duty."

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who read this little tale. I hope that you enjoyed it! As you can probably tell, I planned originally for a sequel, but it went like the best plans of mice - slightly astray! Anyway, thanks to all who read, liked and reviewed, and I hope you have a great holiday season.**


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